


pass out at three, wake up at ten

by kaermorons



Series: The Slutty College AU [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 404 Plot Not Found, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Parties, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Everyone Fucks Everyone With Some Exceptions, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Fratboy Geralt, Fuckboy Geralt, Light Vandalism, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Praise Kink, Slutty Halloween Costumes, Spin the Bottle, Subdrop, Threesome - M/M/M, Trashy Romance, Voyeurism, Wet Clothing Kink, poetry I wrote, sugar daddy elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: It's a stupid modern college au. Geralt's a fuckboy, Jaskier is a horny twink looking to get DESTROYED. I don't wanna write plot for this. This is self care, friends.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Series: The Slutty College AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908193
Comments: 251
Kudos: 433
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Bodyshots, Pt 1 and 2

He’s sticky, he’s drunk, he’s horny, and he’s having a fucking amazing time. Some shitty song from 2004 is blasting on the speakers by his feet, which makes the bassline rumble up his bones to where he’s reclined on the table. He was supposed to be “tending bar” but being the vessel upon which gorgeous undergrads do body shots from should count for something. He laughs as another warm bottle of whiskey gets poured into his navel, sending liquor spilling over his sides.

“C’mon, sexy, hold still.” The deep voice to his left draws his attention, head lolling to the side. He pouts as the voice’s owner is concealed by a bright flash of pink and purple light, and he can’t see the guy’s face. It’s probably a nice face, but Jaskier doesn’t exactly have standards at parties like this. The whiskey is poured on him again and he holds still. There’s a sexy rumble of approval, before a hand goes to Jaskier’s chest and lips press to his stomach. Despite the lukewarm whiskey, Jaskier shivers at the hot lips against his skin. There’s even a tongue, slurping the shot off him and following an errant drop down, over a hipbone and -  _ oh. _ That’s a brave tongue, dipping in below the elastic of his briefs.

Jaskier gives a weak whimper, squirming on the bartop, and the hand on his chest shifts, gliding over his pecs and stiffening when it passes over one of his nipple piercings. He can’t sit up, can’t anything, not without falling off the top. The bass gets even louder, rattling what’s left of his brain like a goddamn maraca.

“One more?” Sexy Voice asks. Jaskier gives a shaky nod, and finally catches a glimpse of the man.

He’s probably the most interesting man Jaskier’s ever seen. His shoulders were broad as a barn and exquisitely muscled, save one long scar curving over the bottom of his bicep. He’s tanned and fucking beautiful, almost glowing in the neon of the shitty house party lights. His black muscle tee sports his membership to some local gym, and -  _ oh  _ **_fuck._ ** Jaskier can see the man’s perfect chest, his perfect stupid nipples, and his dumb fucking abs. Just from what he’s seen, the man’s already at an eighteen out of ten. Jaskier is pretty sure he already has a semi from being used as a human shotglass, but the sight of that body pushes him into ‘definitely hard’ territory.

The face at the top of a thick, muscled neck is framed by a sharp jaw. He’s got a stupid black baseball hat on backwards, but Jaskier can see his snow-white hair peeking from the gap in the middle and out the bottom. It’s up in a stupid little bun that he hates and wants to pull in equal measure. A long, straight nose, slightly blushing cheekbones, and warm golden eyes play heavily into many of Jaskier’s fantasies, but that mouth -  _ Jesus, that mouth _ \- is still wet with whiskey and -  _ fuck, there’s that tongue again.  _ A pierced eyebrow quirks up at him amusedly. Jaskier is almost too distracted by how gorgeous this man is that he doesn’t catch him saying goodbye.

Sexy Voice isn’t enough to describe this man anymore. He is Sexy Everything.

The rest of the party is dull in comparison. Jaskier leaves his shirt off, not wanting to get his clothes sticky, and wanders the house amiably. He doesn’t even admit to himself that he’s looking for Sexy Everything, but there is a hard tinge of disappointment when he’s nowhere to be found.

It makes the hangover in next morning’s lecture that much worse.

Triss knows he’s moping, hell, everyone in the library knows he’s moping. “The price I pay for going to a university with a student population of ten thousand,” he mumbles for the fifth time.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she sighs, not even looking up to bear proper witness to his pouting. “It’s just some guy doing trashy body shots off of you.”

“I resent that statement.” Jaskier taps out a few more words of his essay before groaning again. “He’s just so sexy I thought it was a dream.”

“Shut up and write your essay, Jas.”

No matter how much time Jaskier spends meditating and praying to whatever god would smile on him, Sexy Everything is nowhere to be seen on campus. Not in between classes, not in the student union, not at any of the club week booths, not at the cafeteria, not at the gym (honestly, Jaskier might have to go back and check). Triss gets word of another house party happening at a frat house across town. “It’ll cheer you up! Get him off your mind. You’re not even looking for a boyfriend, just a lay.”

“Thanks, Triss, you managed to insult me and also lift my spirits.” Jaskier gets ready with the same enthusiasm as he did the previous weekend. Should he wear the same pants? They lift his ass deliciously. Yes, same pants it is. God, he almost still smells the whiskey he washed off his stomach. The rideshare brings them to the house, which already has several coeds drinking on picnic blankets on the lawn. Jaskier looks around a little, standing on tiptoe to see if he knows anybody. Triss hits his arm.

“You’re already being dumb, drink.” Triss leaves him alone after doing a traditional shot together, and joins the fray. Jaskier floats through the rooms open to the party, and frowns at himself when he realizes he’s looking for Sexy Everything again.

“This is bullshit. It was two bodyshots, stupid.” Jaskier mutters, grabbing another drink.

One drink leads to another, and soon Jaskier is swaying and grinning for no reason. “Bodyshots in the kitchen!!” someone crows, right in Jaskier’s ear. Well then. That might be fun.

But, to his surprise, who is laid out on the kitchen island? None other than Sexy Everything. Jaskier laughs breathlessly in surprise, feeling his stomach flip and burn where lips had pressed and sucked kisses into his skin just a week ago. That stupid fucking chest and those dumb fucking abs are on full display, laid out like a sacrifice to the party gods. Jaskier feels his brain turn to Pop Rocks instantly.

He doesn’t have his backwards hat on, and his hair is untied, splayed around his head like a beautiful halo of white. If it weren’t for the heavy masculine features on him, Sexy Everything could have been a fairytale princess. “Who’s first up?” the barker called. Jaskier’s hand almost smacks a pendant light in its ascent.

“Me. Me first.” Jaskier rasps. God, he’s already half-hard and  _ aching _ to get his mouth on Sexy Everything, who locks eyes with him. His expression turns from curiosity to surprised recognition, before settling on that smirk that makes Jaskier’s blood boil. That same pierced eyebrow lifts, expectant. Jaskier chose a blueberry vodka to shoot, and surveys his sexy drinkware.

Abs as unfairly-defined as Sexy Everything’s are much too difficult to do body-shots from, so Jaskier settles on the dip of the man’s chest, just beneath those massive pectorals and right on his midline. Light blue vodka swirls and settles comfortably in the dip there, and Jaskier realizes he’s holding his breath. Sexy Everything’s smirk seems to widen. “Second thoughts, sexy?”

Jaskier, spurred by the challenge in his tone, lowers his lips to the liquor. He’s messy, but he’s more interested in tasting the man beneath him than whatever he’s drinking. There’s a low rumble in the chest beneath him, and if he could, Jaskier would drink that noise up as well. He pulls back, lips tasting like blueberry and sin. Sexy Everything’s eyes are blown wide with lust, and that stupid little smirk is nowhere to be found.  _ Good. _ Jaskier licks his lips again and cheekily asks, “One more?”

Sexy Everything raises a massive arm to push his hair back a little. “Why don’t you try right here?” He taps to the hollow of his neck, between his collarbones. Jaskier nods numbly, afraid he’d squeak if he opened his mouth. Another shot is poured just there, smaller, but more tempting.

Jaskier locks eyes and puts his hand on the man’s stomach, the hard planes of the muscles shifting and contracting as he leans in. His mouth locks over the entire shot, and sucks the drink up into his mouth, burning so good all the way down. He feels more than hears the sexy groan beneath his lips. He leaves a little nip on his collar as he pulls back. “Don’t wanna hog you, I’ll be back later.”

“I won’t.” Sexy Everything rasps, breathing hard as he looks up at Jaskier. The look they share is charged and hot, like a live wire between them. Jaskier gives one last rake of his eyes over Sexy Everything’s body, and runs away.

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _


	2. Have a Happy Slutty Halloween

The party is already loud by the time Yen, Triss, and Jaskier roll in. Yen gets an X on her hand, while Jaskier and Triss get wristbands.

“Three hours. We’re out of here at midnight.”

“Alright, Cinderella.” Jaskier grins at his friends and they separate. He draws attention as he goes, walking up and down the stairs, to and from the dancefloor. It’s not every day you see a man tight-laced within an inch of his life.

But what better time to do so than Halloween?

Jaskier adjusts his bunny ears on top of his head. The corset he’s in is a fun, paneled blue and white silk, gold embroidery decorating the edges, and a thick gold ribbon lacing him tight. A tiny pair of hot pants provided just a little bit of modesty, but the fluffy, clip-on bunny tail and the fishnets threw that modesty into the fire. A cheeky pair of high-tops completed the look. The heat radiating off the other bodies leaves him deliciously dizzy, feet pulling him this way and that. At the bar, he exchanges a ticket for a drink, and leans back. The small gap between the corset and his ribs leaves enough room for the sweaty skin to cool, telegraphing a pleased shiver down his spine.

The corset is an underbust, only going to the bottoms of his pectorals, leaving his chest and pierced nipples exposed to the club. He rests the cool drink on his neck for a moment, a small reprieve from the heat. His senses inform him of a naughty little water droplet racing down under the corset, and he has to bite his lip to hold back a pleased moan.

He’d worn the corset so he wouldn’t be tempted into body shots, giving or taking. It’d probably work. Probably. Jaskier’s slut tendencies knew almost no bounds.

“Don’t you look appetizing,” a deep, rumbling voice to his left says. It’s an older voice, but almost the same pitch as—

No. He isn’t thinking about Sexy Everything tonight. It just isn’t worth it. Jaskier is done wasting his time on men he doesn’t even know the name of. Jaskier turns his eyes up to the man on his left.

He has a shocking pair of golden eyes, ringed with age and amusement in equal measure. He very obviously takes care of himself, freshly shaved and hair pulled back in a tight tail. He’s in a very well-tailored suit, very out of place for the hot and sweaty venue, but if he’s uncomfortable, the smirk on his lips hides it.

Jaskier almost bites his lip before he remembers the lipstick painted there. “We try our best. What’re you supposed to be?”

The man raises a hand to the bar and a drink appears in his hand in the next second. Jaskier is impressed by his command, before he realizes he must be talking to the club owner. He’s ordered a dirty martini, two olives pierced through a stick. He holds the olives out of the way as he takes a sip, eyes never leaving Jaskier’s kohl-rimmed ones.

“James Bond.” His deadpan tone and expression reveal he’s not supposed to be anything, just dressed up for the night. Jaskier supposes he’s in the same boat; just trying to get away from his name for awhile.

“It’s a very fine get-up, if you ask me.” Jaskier raises his own drink in a little toast, sipping coyly as he flutters his eyes. The fine tailoring on the suit leaves almost nothing to the imagination, muscled arms and broad shoulders all around. Jaskier has to gnaw on his cheek, to save his lips.

“Well, could say the same to you, bunny.” It’s an innocuous come-on, a silly little name, but it makes Jaskier’s heart beat double-time and his face flush scarlet. He almost chokes on his drink. James Bond gives him another smirk, and slowly bites an olive off of the stick, all straight white teeth and playful malice.

Jaskier wants to be a fucking olive. Dear Christ.

It’s probably not a good idea to press forward a couple more inches to the man who owns his favorite club on the planet, but Jaskier likes his body heat, even through the fine suit. The corset can get awfully cold, after all.

“Hungry, bunny?” James Bond asks. He offers the stick with the remaining olive on it, and Jaskier doesn’t hesitate before nodding and leaning in. He locks eyes with the man as he wraps his lips around the garnish, the sharp burn from the vermouth mingling with the brining salt as he sucks the olive off the stick. He tries his best to smile through his chewing, but knows he probably looks ridiculous. James Bond doesn’t seem to care, however. James Bond has a heated look in his eyes, amused and pleased by Jaskier’s boldness.

Jaskier swallows. “Do you dance, Double-oh Seven?” He tries not to hold the breathlessness in his own voice against him. The man is a snack in a suit, and Jaskier, as he’d been observed, is quite the hungry bunny.

“Not here, I don’t.” The man had to raise his voice just a little over the loud music, but the scant few inches he’d moved closer to Jaskier’s ear had him almost shivering all over. “Maybe over there we could dance.”

The place he’d indicated is a collection of low-to-the-ground velvet couches, cordoned off by a rope. Jaskier followed the man, both of them waved in by the bouncer on duty. They find a couch near the back corner, and they sink in deep, hip-to-hip. The nearest person is the bouncer himself. “No VIP’s on Halloween?” Jaskier asks.

“Things tend to get a little...sticky on this particular holiday.” Jaskier giggles and lets the other man bring his legs over his lap.

“What kind of candy do you like then, Mr. Bond?” Jaskier takes another sip of his drink, leaving lipstick on the rim of the glass. The man squeezes his calf a little, chuckling from deep in his chest.

“I like a good sucker, so long as it lasts awhile.” The man’s answer sends a rush of heat flooding through Jaskier’s veins, and he has to adjust his ears before he responds.

“I love a jawbreaker.” This shocks the man, for the first time that night. Jaskier likes to pride himself on being able to pull out a detailed innuendo at the drop of a hat, but this reaction is his favorite by far. “Just something about how sore my tongue gets, makes me remember the taste that much longer.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, bunny.” The hand on his calf squeezes tighter, stealing his breath. His nipples, were they not already pierced, would be straining and hard right now otherwise. “You prepared to play to the end?”

“And beyond and on and on and on…” Jaskier lets himself be pulled into a kiss, wet and filthy, vodka and vermouth intertwining on their tongues. Jaskier moans into the man’s mouth, the thumping bass of the club falling away as his body learns another.

At some point his ears come off, the headband falling to the floor or couch, he doesn’t care. The angle becomes a bit much for the corset, and he has to straddle the man to be able to breathe again. The stuttering gasp he lets out against those hot lips held the same reverence of a prayer, a desperate plea to be taken care of, and given more. Two thick and strong hands come to rest on his ass, pulling him back and forth across the lap he sits astride. He recognizes the rhythm quickly and leaves his hands on the man’s shoulders, showing him what he can do. 

The friction and heat boil heavily in Jaskier’s chest, and the tension from the corset has him gasping between every kiss. “Turn around, bunny, wanna see that tail.”

Jaskier complies, planting his feet on the floor and grinding between those thick thighs. He’s already so hard and practically leaking precome in his hot pants, but he can’t make himself care. James Bond here is gonna get sticky furniture every day if he had any say.

There’s suddenly a flash of white, and black, and gold, across the rows of VIP couches. From just behind the velvet ropes -  _ no fucking way _ \- is Sexy Everything, watching him grind on this older man with abandon. A moan tears itself from his throat, and there’s a sudden hand at his neck, holding him upright. “You keep looking at him, bunny. You look him in the eye and let him know what you’re doin’ to me,” the man growls in his ear. “You let him know how fast you can get a cock hard.”

“Ngh…” Jaskier whimpers, pressing into the hand as his ass, his hips, move faster over the man’s hardening cock. “Oh my god…” He squeaks, feeling his vision tunnel. Sexy Everything still hasn’t looked away, hands fisting the velvet rope separating them like he’d rip them apart given the right signal.

He can’t breathe. Between the hand on his throat, the immeasurable pleasure in racing through his body, and the constriction from the corset, he’s going to pass out. He didn’t raise himself to be a quitter, however, and he redoubles his efforts, breath rattling past his lips as he moves faster and faster. God, he hasn’t been in the club more than forty minutes and he’s already giving a lapdance.

Jaskier doesn’t care one bit.

His fate is sealed when the hand that had been guiding his hip slides up, up, up the corset, and flicks the tiny piercing through his nipple. Jaskier cries out, overwhelmed, and collapses back, unconscious.

There’s a few scary minutes where he isn’t sure where he is, pressure being alleviated all over, a soft textured blanket over him, head in a comfortable lap.

“Had us scared, there, bunny,” the deep voice says.

“I’ve been through worse, Mr. Bond,” Jaskier slurs back, blinking against the sudden stark light.

“Vesemir. Figured we’re past halloween costumes at this point. Call me Vesemir.”

“But I like when you call me bunny.” Jaskier pouts and buries his face into a warm stomach, squirming a little. He’s stilled by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Well then. Guess I’ll have to earn your name.” Jaskier feels a cool water bottle pressed to his lips, which he drinks from greedily. “Easy, bunny.” The hand on his shoulder moves to his hair, stroking gently and soothingly.

“You take off my corset?”

“You should know better than to exert yourself after tightlacing.”

“I push myself quite often, Vesemir.” Jaskier sits up, looking around. They’re in a small office, neat and sparse. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He’s just this side of bashful, having made quite the fool of himself out there, where he can still hear the party bumping away just beyond the door.

“Of course. International man of mystery, not mistreatment.” Jaskier grins at him, and self-consciously knows he’s a mess, makeup probably smeared and melted to hell. Vesemir doesn’t seem to mind, however, continuing to stroke Jaskier’s hair.

“Jaskier. My name is Jaskier.” Vesemir considers him for a long moment, before nodding.

“Bunny.”

“That works too.”


	3. The Wet T Shirt Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kate, queen of Jambert
> 
> UPDATE 25 September 2020: I've retconned a little bit to make the timelines mesh better going forward. It's indistinguishable unless you reread this fic hella.

After the Halloween party and the strange events that happened, Triss and Yen are quite reluctant to take him out anywhere but campus. Jaskier is hardly considered an adult anywhere but his driver’s license, still learning his boundaries and where his place in the world is. The catastrophe at the club left Jaskier feeling a little off-rhythm as well. He takes to spending more time in the library and at the student union rather than at the apartment he shares with Triss. The sad looks she keeps throwing him don’t help.

Which is why she surprises him by stealing his clothes in the shower and replacing them with her own choices. On the top of the pile is “we’re going out, get sexy” written on a heart-shaped post-it note. Jaskier can’t keep the same expression on for long, vaulting between confused and a wild grin multiple times before he steps out.

She’s chosen some looser but still fitted jeans in a dark wash, the knees and thighs slashed to all hell. As he’s tugging on the boots she left as well, he looks himself over in the long mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. A plain white tee shirt? Really, Triss? Jaskier doesn’t think his looks were cool or interesting enough to balance the rather plain look, but Triss squeals and says something about “Alex Turner” the moment he comes out.

“Did you just want to put me in something loose so you’d be sure I wouldn’t pass out this time?” Jaskier asks, rolling his eyes. He can’t hide his smile at her unrestrained glee, however.

“Maybe. It was mostly Yen’s idea. She found a party tonight, really last minute, it’s at Alpha Sigma Alpha. There’s a cover, but we’re treating you, so just come, pleeeease?” Jaskier likes how Triss does business: get them to agree, and point-blank don’t tell them what they’re in for until it’s too late.

“FINE. Fine. You little witch.” Jaskier laughs and throws on a jacket. It’s probably the last warm day of the year for their little college town. Jaskier dislikes winter, it’s when Triss goes home for the break and he has to hold down their dinky little apartment for himself. He doesn’t want to overspend on things like heating, so he often shivers to sleep and shivers awake in those six weeks between semesters. He pushes all thoughts of the real world and its problems away. He deserves a night of free fun, drinking and dancing, and whatever else Triss has in mind.

He recognizes some of the people there, the usual partygoers he sees at other events, but he doesn’t know their names. Despite his frequent attendance at these kinds of get-togethers, Jaskier is actually very shy, and aside from Triss and Yen, doesn’t know too many people.

And then he sees a familiar face, and swears into his sip of beer, nearly spilling it everywhere. Sexy Everything is at the end of the hallway, talking to three young women. All four of them are eyeing each other up like pieces of meat. Sexy Everything is wearing a white tee just a bit too small for his buff arms and shoulders, sheer enough that Jaskier can see the outline of a stupid tattoo trailing up his ribs, tendrils - probably vines - reaching behind his back and into his jeans.

That’s new.

Jaskier can hardly focus, his mind flicking between how absolutely delicious Sexy Everything looks and the fact that _he saw Jaskier pass out while giving a lapdance in a corset._

He honestly hasn’t thought about the incident...more than the few dozen times he had his hand on his dick since then. He hadn’t heard from Vesemir in a few days, which broke his heart a little, but he had enough spank bank material from the times they had made out in Vesemir's office to last him at least ‘til the spring semester was over. He’s too much of a coward to ask for more, though.

He hasn’t stopped looking at Sexy Everything this whole time. Jaskier feels his mouth water, wondering how Sexy Everything’s skin will taste all inked up. He knows it’s a bad idea, and luckily his feet pull him from the scene, hiding in the next room. He’s literally behind a tall potted plant, burying his face in the red cup in his hands.

He doesn’t hide there for long. Raucous shouts from outside start to filter in and the room starts to clear as most partiers file to the backyard. A familiar flash of red hair enters the room, and bright green eyes find his. “Jaskier Pankratz get your fucking ass over here.” She doesn’t sound angry, but she’s definitely not to be trifled with. The minute he comes over, she loops her arm through his, squeezing her bicep tight to keep him next to her. “They’re doing a wet t-shirt contest outside, let’s go!”

Suddenly many things click in place. This was the reason why Triss made him wear something so plain. Fuck, it was probably why Sexy Everything was similarly dressed. “Triss, oh my god, please—”

“I can’t hear you, I already signed you up!” Triss giggles. Dread settles in his gut, and he grabs a handful of jell-o shots off the kitchen counter as they head outside.

“You know, the outside of a comfort zone isn’t a combat zone, Beatrice.” Her arm tightens on his.

“Call me that again and I’ll stick my foot in your comfort zone, Julian.” Her smile shows nearly all her teeth and strikes the fear of...something into him.

“Fair. But Triss, you’re a bloody menace, why are you making me do th—” He’s cut off when she shoves him into a group of other white-shirted men. A wrangler straightens them out into a line, who Jaskier recognizes as the body-shot caller from the last house party he went to. Up close, Jaskier can appreciate him even more.

He has dark brown, almost black hair, pushed up off his face into a backwards hat. The bits that stick out of the front stand almost straight off his head. His eyes shine a deep amber, playful and brimming with mischief. He has a bandage over his forehead and cheek, with a bit of a purpling bruise on his jaw. Two spider bite piercings sit side-by-side beneath his pouty lips. Jaskier wants to wrap his lips around them and _suck._ The appreciative once-over he gives Jaskier makes him shiver, but he’s walking away before Jaskier can ask his name.

But oh, to watch him leave, and all that.

Jaskier realizes with horror that Sexy Everything is just three men down the line from him, hair pulled off his neck in a little bun. Jaskier ducks down a little, trying to make himself smaller and less recognizable.

Someone on a microphone is yelling rules or whatever, but Jaskier doesn’t care. He just wants to get hosed down and get out of there. It’s a bit too much mortification for one night. Spider Bites comes back into view, a running hose in hand. _Oh dear god, this is happening._

Jaskier, standing near the end, gets to watch as one-by-one, undergrads were turned into dripping wet dreamscapes. The shouts from the first few are a little alarming, Jaskier hated being cold. As the contest continues, Jaskier wonders if he has the mental willpower not to watch Sexy Everything get hosed down in that already sheer shirt he has on. Would it evaporate as soon as the water touches it?

Apparently, Jaskier is not strong enough to deny himself. As the white-haired man steps forward, Spider Bites says something to him, locking eyes with Jaskier while he says it. Jaskier feels his face heat up as Sexy Everything looks over his shoulder, freezing him in place, practically stopping his heart with that heated stare. He mouths something to him.

_Hi, sexy._

Jaskier nearly passes out again, but all thoughts are completely flushed away when Spider Bites turns the hose onto his chest, spraying him down for the cheering crowd. The fabric doesn’t evaporate, but it does almost go translucent, hugging every single contour of the body beneath it. As he shakes off the excess water, Jaskier can see his nipples tightening, little nubs that stand out almost through the fabric. Jaskier has had his lips on that body before, and it’s haunted him for so many sleepless nights. He’s being watched in his appraisal.

He can see the tattoo that much better now. They’re not tendrils or vines, they’re black flames, licking up the side of his body and holding him, cradling him. It looks fresh and stark through the shirt, and Jaskier feels a deep hunger growl through his body, snarling to be sated. He doesn’t even notice the other men after Sexy Everything get hosed down, still so enchanted by the dripping wet man himself.

He’s pulled forward by a large hand around his wrist. “C’mon, sugar, do a little dance for me,” Spider Bites murmurs in his ear, the hot breath from that mouth being the last warm thing Jaskier feels before the hose is turned on him. He gasps in shock at the sudden plunge of water over him, and remembers what Spider Bites said.

Locking eyes with the man, Jaskier rolls his body, pushing the frigid water over his chest, ensuring his nipple piercings are on full display through the fabric of the shirt. He knows he doesn’t have much to look at in the way of muscles, but Jaskier tries his best, getting his hair wet and flinging the longer parts over his face. He’s about to start shivering when he hears the excited screams of the crowd and his self-consciousness kicks back in.

Spider Bites is grinning at him, beautiful and almost...proud? Jaskier glows at the attention, and steps back, pushing his hair out of his face. Through sheer will, powered by the cold leaching into his bones, he does not look at Sexy Everything, knowing it’d probably infuriate the man.

After the winner is crowned - a man Jaskier recognizes from his philosophy class - they are handed towels and participation beers. Jaskier strips off the sopping wet shirt and dries off his body as best he can, scowling in distaste at his wet jeans. “The frat provided some dry shirts and boxers if you want em.” A voice says from above.

It’s Spider Bites, holding out a little bundle of fabric, that looks better suited for a t-shirt cannon than his body. Still, Jaskier takes the offering. “Thank you.” He’s still blushing at the memory of the grin he gave Jaskier just a few minutes ago.

“You gave me a pretty good show, sugar.” He leans lazily on the wall next to Jaskier, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier pulls on the shirt but leaves his own wet boxers on. He’s tipsy but not a fool to undress anywhere so public.

“Yeah, well, you asked me pretty nicely. I like manners.” Jaskier moved still-damp hair out of his eyes. The piercings on Spider Bites’ lip get sucked away into his mouth for a moment, and when they return are shiny with spit.

“What if I wanted to ask nicely to make out against this wall?”

Heat flushes through Jaskier’s body at the easy tone. “Well I’m open to hearing your proposal,” he breathes, already knowing his answer.

Spider Bites leans over and puts his elbow on the wall next to Jaskier’s head, tilting his head to the side and smiling. “Can I pretty please make out with you against this wall, sugar?” Jaskier is hardly finished nodding before those lips are on his, hot and cherry-sweet. Jaskier shudders and moans, dropping the boxers and lifting his arms up around Spider Bites’ neck.

He’s kissed within an inch of his life, hands and hips pressing against each other. Jaskier’s blood is pounding in his ears louder than the music, and he can’t keep any of his little moans and whimpers in, especially when Spider Bites is doing something _amazing_ with his tongue against Jaskier’s pulse. He’s sure to have a mark there, but Jaskier is the farthest thing from caring.

Jaskier suddenly gasps for two reasons, the first being the feeling of Spider Bites dragging twin piercings over his collarbone. The second was that with his sexy wall anchor holding him in place so far down, he realizes that they have an audience of one: Sexy Everything is leaning casually against the far wall from them, shirtless and comfortable as can be. Jaskier’s heart pounds unevenly as kisses and bites are sucked onto his skin. Sexy Everything’s eyes hold a challenge to them, daring him.

Daring him to put on a show.

The wanton moan rips from his lips before Jaskier can stop it, his hand snaking up Spider Bites’ shoulder to the nape of his neck. The man beneath him shudders minutely, melting into the touch. The hands on Jaskier’s waist squeeze, speaking _more_ in a language lips can’t speak aloud. Sexy Everything grins, cheeky and pleased. Jaskier rolls his body forward, eager for more skin contact. Those hands slip up, under his shirt, to play with his nipples, rolling the piercings around gently and lazily.

It feels like Snake Bites wants to just hold and kiss him the whole damn night. Jaskier loses track of time, but between one gasp for air and the next, Sexy Everything seems to have disappeared into thin air, only the beer he’d left behind remaining. “You taste so sweet, sugar,” is rumbled against his neck, before those lips kiss a trail back up to his mouth. Their tongues tangle together for a bit before they both pull away.

“If I could just die here right now, I’d be happy.” Jaskier is panting a little. E catches sight of the clock on the wall. “Oh, fuck it’s late,” he groans.

“Call you a cab?” Spider Bites asks, still just holding him, stroking over his shoulders and pressing light little kisses all over his face. Jaskier nods dumbly, and the rest is a dazed blur. He is kissed into a cab, and before they even get a block away, his phone buzzes.

Through the haze in his eyes and the driver asking where he wants to go, Jaskier can make out the three little words on the screen.

_You busy, bunny?_

Jaskier grins, and tells the cab driver where he wants to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If ur unsure of who Spider Bites is, it's Lambert
> 
> [And if you're interested in what happens between this chapter and the next...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590834)


	4. Spin the Bottle

It isn't that Jaskier is avoiding parties. He's actually been to several in the last few weekends if one counts 'been to' as 'dropping off Triss and picking up Triss and Yen later’. Jaskier thinks it counts. That’s all that really matters to him. However, he is having an identity crisis.

He's bemoaning his loss of self to Triss the first Sunday in November. Winter is well on its way to settling in over the small college town, and Jaskier hates it. He knows going to a party someone's hosting will mean a night he's not paying for heating, though, so his will has been slowly caving over the last few weeks. The wet t-shirt contest and ensuing night at Vesemir's are stark in his memory, and he finds himself daydreaming far more than normal at class times.

"Maybe do something you used to enjoy?" Triss suggests. "I always seem to go back to coloring books when I'm feeling too much like an adult. Haven't heard you sing or play in quite a while."

"You're right, I should play more," Jaskier says, pushing a hand through his hair. "All I can think of are those stupid fucking men, though. Is it acceptable to scream  _ 'daddy I want your cock' _ for a song?"

"Okay, enough. I'm signing you up for the next open mic if it kills you."

"I thought the phrase was 'if it kills me'," Jaskier points out.

"Yeah, it'll kill you if you don't, so...be ready, Jaskier."

She kidnaps him the next day, after classes let out. "Get your guitar, homework can wait." Jaskier grins and does as told, for once.

"Go sign up, I'll hold down a table in our usual spot for when you're done." The pair separates, and Jaskier sits among the other guitar-carrying performers. He isn't sure the songs he wants to sing that night, always felt like a spur-of-the-moment choice got him out of his head faster.

"Could I get the sheet next?" A deep voice asks from behind, making him jump. He turns and is faced with a chunky knit scarf, wrapped around a tanned neck (who tanned in November?) that supports a beautiful, scarred, strong-featured face. There's even a matching black beanie. Jaskier is speechless. Those eyes...just as golden as the ones haunting his dreams. He hands over the clipboard in shaking hands. The man smirks, making Jaskier notice the small black hoops in his lip and nose.

He can't immediately tell what the scars are from, adding to the mystery of the man before him. Mysterious Beanie writes his name down on the clipboard and passes it on, taking a seat on a couch. Jaskier numbly sits by his guitar.

Fuck, he'd called him 'Mysterious Beanie'. It's happening again.

He waves to Triss, weak in the knees and in the everywhere else. He'd probably have to slither to the table if he got up now.

An emcee calls the coffee shop's attention, welcoming them to the open mic and explaining the donations can going around the shop. Jaskier has performed here before; he knows the speech but hardly pays attention, instead staring almost open-mouthed at Mysterious Beanie.

He realizes he's drooling a little. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

Jaskier is called up a few performers in, thanks to Triss getting here early. He takes the stage, trying hard not to shiver under the golden-eyed gaze to his left. "Hi, there..." He coughs into the mic. "Oh, fuck. My guitar. Jesus." Luckily, the café understands, and he retakes his place on the small stage, with his guitar this time.

"Right, uh, I'm Jaskier, thanks. Cool. Gonna sing you a sad one."

Jaskier begins playing a small chord progression on his guitar, gentle and soft.

_ Your fingertips against my skin, _ _   
_ _ The palm trees swaying in the wind _ _   
_ _ Images _

_ You sang me Spanish lullabies _ _   
_ _ The sweetest sadness in your eyes _ _   
_ _ Clever trick _

_ I never want you to be unhappy _ _   
_ _ I thought you'd want the same for me _

_ Goodbye, my almost lover _ _   
_ _ Goodbye, my hopeless dream _ _   
_ _ I'm trying not to think about you _ _   
_ _ Can't you just let me be? _ _   
_ _ So long, my luckless romance _ _   
_ _ My back is turned on you _ _   
_ _ I should've known you'd bring me heartache _ _   
_ _ Almost lovers always do _

Jaskier took a breath, shaking at the wrists. Looking out at the crowd, he saw they were still attentive. He wasn't making too big a fool of himself. He continued singing, the verse and the refrain slipping out easily.

_ I cannot go to the ocean _ _   
_ _ I cannot drive the streets at night _ _   
_ _ I cannot wake up in the morning _ _   
_ _ Without you on my mind _ _   
_ _ So you're gone and I'm haunted _ _   
_ _ And I bet you are just...fine _ _   
_ _ Did I really make it that easy to just _ _   
_ _ Walk in and out of my life? _

He lets the song settle, blinking back sudden tears pricking at his eyes. He powers through the rest, ending it on a major chord, a bright and shiny tone that deflects the sadness in the words.

"Yeah, that's fucking sad, innit?" Jaskier laughs. "I'mma play you one more, though. Little happier, just...yeah." He adjusts his capo, flexes his fingers, and picks out a melody, familiar enough to elicit excited titters all around him. He can still feel that heavy gaze, felt it at its heaviest when he was singing about how easy it was to leave him.

_ Half-past twelve _ _   
_ _ And I'm watching the late show in my flat, all alone _ _   
_ _ How I hate to spend the evenings on my own... _

Jaskier's voice bounced all over, between low snarls and higher belts that had him arching his back to avoid screaming into the mic.

_ There's not a soul out there _ _   
_ _ No one to hear my prayer _ _   
_ _ Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight _ _   
_ _ Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? _ _   
_ _ Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight _ _   
_ _ Take me through the darkness to the break of the day _

It's a fun song, one that he hopes will wash away the rest of the gloom he'd invited in from the first song. He dances and grooves on stage, taking liberties with the song where he wants. He ends the song to grins and applause, and feels like he's righted himself again.

The feeling lasts for all of three seconds because the second he goes to waltz off the small stage, he trips, body sailing through the air—

Only to be caught by Mysterious Beanie. Fucking hell, why does this happen to me?

"Oh. Fucking cock, I'm clumsy today. Thank you." Jaskier is set back on his feet, the feeling of warm hands through his jacket still burning his skin beneath.

"Course, darling," Mysterious Beanie says, before taking a rather thorough once-over and then ascending the stairs Jaskier had done a great job of ignoring. He's so embarrassed and flustered through putting his guitar back in the case that he doesn't catch the man's name, as he adjusts the microphone up to his considerable height. Jaskier is about to go out to Triss at her table when he spots—

"No  _ fucking _ way," he mutters, feeling his face heat up once more. Sexy Everything in all his sexy goddamn glory is sitting at a table near the back, hair pulled into a little bun. His eyes are on Mysterious Beanie with a strange, hungry intent, but slides his gaze over to Jaskier, waving just his fingers and mouthing  _ hi, sexy. _

Jaskier holds onto his guitar. He's not fucking going out there. Not when he's just embarrassed himself in front of half the café  _ and _ two of the sexiest men he'd ever seen in his life.

_ Why does this keep happening? _

Mysterious Beanie is reading poetry. The warm cadence of his voice heats Jaskier up in his very bones, and still manages to send a shiver down his spine. Jaskier turns his head and looks at him, as if in a trance.

Sometimes I wish you'd go for a walk   
Sometimes I wish you'd stayed   
But night's the only time we talk   
You can't see ghosts by day.

If I could walk a hundred paths   
And choose the ones I tried   
I'd walk backwards into my own past   
And be with those that died.

If darkness took a hundred hours   
The sunlight would come too soon   
I'm all that's left of this family of ours,   
Howling at the moon.

All that's left of my own life   
Is screaming at the stars   
And the pain that cuts my heart like knives   
Ain’t the one that leaves me scarred.

The ocean took my mom and dad   
The sky, it took my brother   
The land's the only haven I have   
And I have known no other.

Half the café jumps in surprise when he snaps his black notebook closed, clearly done with his reading. Hesitant snaps fill the air, and--yes, Sexy Everything is also snapping. Mysterious Beanie breezes by Jaskier, pain in his eyes. That poem must have been deeply personal.

Jaskier finally gets the courage to go sit with Triss. She'd bought him a cappuccino with a little bunny in it. He snaps a picture to send to Vesemir.

_ Thinking of you. 🐰 _

"You're stupid," Triss says, seeing the whole exchange.

"You should be quiet." Jaskier sips his coffee, and nearly chokes when he sees Mysterious Beanie sit down with Sexy Everything. "Jesus, does this guy have a monopoly on  _ all _ the sexy men in my life?" Jaskier mutters into his drink. Triss follows his line of sight.

"Oh, gods. No no, wait.  _ That's _ Sexy Everything?" Triss gasps and pulls out her phone. She won't let Jaskier see what she's typing, but he knows it's going to Yen. "Yen's gonna shit herself. No. You need to immediately squash whatever shit you have. I know these guys. Jaskier they will take your heart and do a touchdown slam with it."

"You've dated them!?" Jaskier hisses.

"No, but practically everyone else has, is my point. Those two are a womanizing team. Your Sexy Everything has never been with someone longer than it takes to convince them to do anal. And breaks up over texts. The other guy, E--" She's interrupted by a very emoji-laden message from Yennefer. "He's bad news of a different kind. Most everyone who knows anything about it knows he waits til you catch feelings, and then dumps you at the same fucking diner he dumps everyone else."

Jaskier looks between her and the table of hot men. "But they're so hot? And they're friends?" Jaskier is confused.

"You have your horny brain on right now. You need to use your logical brain. Do not pursue. Do not engage. Do not even think of them, stop—stop fucking looking at them. Jaskier you hoe!"

"I'm not a hoe!" Jaskier pouts. They're hushed by another table.

"Finish your coffee, we need to leave.  _ Now." _

And so they did.

* * *

Jaskier is more bewildered than he remembers being when they get home, needing to do some mental gymnastics to right the world again. He goes and lays on his bed, staring up at the little pink stars that came with his room.

Sexy Everything.

Mysterious Beanie.

They were connected somehow. He would wager a guess that Spider Bites and Vesemir were also somehow involved, judging by the interactions Sexy Everything had with them, the whispering in the ear at the wet t-shirt contest and the voyeurism at the Halloween party.

_ Shit. _

"Is it a cult? Am I being groomed for a really sexy cult?" Jaskier asks aloud.

"They're not a cult, they're just fuckheads," Triss calls from the kitchen. She tends to go a little crazy with the cleaning supplies when she's stressed enough.

"Fuckheads sounds nice."

"I will chain you to a pole, Jaskier. STOP THINKING ABOUT THEM."

That was that.

Until he goes to the park three days later with a group from his lit class. Bundled up in two jackets and a scarf, Jaskier hopes he won't be cold for long. Someone brings out a big old bottle of whiskey that they pass between them in a paper bag, getting drunker and drunker as they walk through the streets. The group meets up with a second, small-ish group.

A group that contained Mysterious Beanie.

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _

At least he's alone this time, in the same scarf and beanie combo from the open mic. Sexy Everything couldn’t hide in this group if he wanted. They don’t speak, but they do keep stealing glances as they walk to the park, hanging back just a little in the group. Mysterious Beanie pulls out a flask and wordlessly offers it to Jaskier. “Drink it first so I know it’s not poison,” Jaskier teases.

Mysterious Beanie gives a small smile and does as he’s told. Interesting. Once proven that the flask is safe for consumption, Jaskier takes a drink. It’s a chai-spiced rum, smooth and warm down Jaskier’s throat. “That’s interesting.”

“Made it myself,” Mysterious Beanie says, shrugging. They reach the park, and news of the wasted whiskey bottle is moaned throughout the group.

“Well, there’s still plenty of fun to have with an empty bottle…” A woman suggests.

“Ugh, are you twelve? Spin the bottle?”

“So what? It’s cold, we could get some good warm lovin’ for seven minutes.” She’s quickly berated for not knowing that Seven Minutes In Heaven and Spin the Bottle were two different things, but the group is tipsy and horny enough to agree that she’s got a good idea. Jaskier takes a seat in the circle, and to his surprise, so does Mysterious Beanie. He gives another shrug at Jaskier’s quirked eyebrow.

“Okay, I’ll go first, and then next spin is the person to the left of where the bottle landed.” The woman explains, clutching the empty bottle like a talking stick. She sets it down and gives it a little spin. It clatters a little on the concrete but eventually lands on the man two spots from Jaskier. He looks quite eager to go find a bit of shrubbery to make out in.

“Have fun!”

“Seven minutes, no more!”

The calls follow them away. The man to the left takes the bottle and gives it a spin. Jaskier’s heart is in his throat as the bottle slows down in its final revolution, but it lands just to the right of him, a thrilled member of the group that had shown up and merged with Jaskier’s friends. They go off together, hand in hand, and Jaskier almost forgets it’s his turn to spin.

“Shit,” he mumbles, picking up the bottle and setting it down firmly on the ground. He winds up and releases it with a flick of his wrist. It seems to spin forever and ever and ever and ever...until it stops.

The half-foiled edge of the whiskey bottle is pointing straight at Mysterious Beanie, who looks like he’d planned it this way all along.  _ Holy shit, holy fuck, oh god, what do I do? _

Mysterious Beanie tugs him up by his hand. “I know a place,” he says, in that low voice Jaskier hadn’t stopped thinking about since that open mic. He nods wordlessly and follows him out to the edge of the park, and down a small running trail, that breaks off into a smaller deer run.

“If you’re planning to murder me, please let me know. I have bills.” Jaskier breathes on his hands a little, feeling the chill more clearly now that they’re in the woods.

“Not gonna kill you,” the other man says. “It’s right here. Come on.” They step through the underbrush a little further and find a completely secluded area, with a large, twisty tree reaching up to the sky.

“You really did know a pl—mmph!” Jaskier is suddenly pulled around and pushed against the tree, a set of hot lips on his.  _ He tastes like that damn rum in his flask. _

Jaskier whines and snakes a leg up the back of his thick thighs, pulling him closer. They grind their hips together, wasting no time at all. Jaskier’s hands are shaking from the cold. Mysterious Beanie pulls back and takes Jaskier’s hands, pressing them against his torso. He’s so warm, Jaskier can’t hold back a moan of pleasure at the feeling.

One warm hand circles round to grasp at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, tugging at the hair there. Jaskier whines again and leans his head back for the claiming. Those hot lips trail searing kisses down the column of his throat, sucking what’s sure to be a very dark mark into the base of his neck.

The other hand dances an artful little number down Jaskier’s side, until it’s slipping into the back pocket of his jeans and squeezing. Mysterious Beanie gives a low growl of approval. They’re both exceptionally hard, and wanting more. Jaskier removes one of his hands from the man’s chest and pulls that errant hand from his ass to his crotch, where a firm heel presses against him. Jaskier can’t help the soft moan punched from his chest.

“Can I?” the man rasps, deep and dark in his ear. Jaskier nods.

“Please, please, just—” One-handed, Jaskier’s belt and fly are undone, and that hot hand wraps around his already leaking cock. Jaskier squirms against the tree needily.

“Shh, shh, shh, you gotta be quieter, darling. Make those sounds just for me. Just for me.” Jaskier nods again, dizzy with arousal and want. “There you go. God, you look so pretty right now. Could keep you here for hours, couldn’t I?” Jaskier’s soft keen answers his question, and he’s rewarded by a swipe of a thumb over the head of his cock. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that to you darling. Promise.” A kiss is pressed to his temples.

Jaskier knows this is going to be over embarrassingly fast. He hasn’t been warm in hours, and this man has taken him from shivering to shaking with need in less than three minutes. Probably. Time is fuzzy for him.

“T-tell me what you wanna do…” Jaskier pleads in a whisper, his voice cracking on the last syllable. There’s a playful flash of golden eyes in his sightline for a moment, before those lips descend on his neck once more.

“Gotta lotta walls in my apartment, darling. They could use a good fucking against. Wanna get you nice and dirty, covered in come and sweat and tears. Then I wanna clean you off, get you showered and dirty all over again until you can’t remember your own name.” The pace of his hand on Jaskier’s cock increases throughout his speech. Jaskier’s knees are shaking and weak.

“You’re gonna make me embarrass myself…” Jaskier pants shakily.

“No embarrassment here, darling. Just you. Just me. You don’t hold back, now. You come when you want to.” Jaskier whimpers as those lips meet his once more. He gives in to the fantasy and sucks that lip ring into his mouth, gnawing on the lip around it. Mysterious Beanie groans into his mouth, hot and low, and Jaskier can’t last more than another ten seconds with that moment seared into his skull.

He arches his back sharply and bites off a shout as he feels his peak overtake him. He spills into Mysterious Beanie’s hand and whines, pressing his face into his shoulder. Stars, honest-to-god  _ stars _ burst behind his eyelids. He’s stroked through the whole thing until he’s trembling with overstimulation and cold once more. “C’mon, darling, hands back on me now, that’s it.” Jaskier does as he’s told. Interesting. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’d do a lot more for this man if he only told him to.

“D-don’t you wanna—?” Jaskier looks down at the man’s hard-on.

“Not right now, darling. Let me take care of you.” He’s hushed again, tucked back in his jeans, and held close. Warm kisses cover every inch of his face, and he wants to do the same, but Mysterious Beanie doesn’t let him. Face kisses are apparently off-limits for handjobs in the woods. “There we go. If I go out first, can you head back to the park on your own?”

Jaskier nods, remembering the deer run and the running trail. He can’t say much at all. “You can pay me back later if you want. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” He doesn’t even tell Jaskier his name before he’s disappearing into the trees again.

When Jaskier stumbles back into the park, Mysterious Beanie is gone.

Triss is going to be very, very mad.


	5. Light Vandalism & Kissing In Cars

It’s a tradition.

Every year, the weekend before finals begins, students at the university have their own little rituals, praying to the gods of academia to grant them some grace during exams. Several of them are praying to a god of mischief.

Which is how Jaskier ends up on campus long past even when the night classes have let out. He’s in a small group, mostly just students wanting to wrap yarn around the Finals Tree at midnight. Being early December, he can hardly breathe out his stuffed nose, but tradition is tradition, snow be damned. There’s still garish yellow and red banners all over the quad, advertising late-night study sessions, visible even in the darkness.

Jaskier says, “fuck it, I’m freezing,” and hugs the tree with both arms, pulling back to tie his length of yarn in a little bow. He turns around from the tree, and sees a man darting across the quad, his arms full of toilet paper and a huge backpack on his shoulders. Some of Jaskier’s friends titter nervously about the prankster, wondering if they’re going to be caught. “I...I’ll go talk to him,” Jaskier says, and walks over.

The closer he gets, the more familiar the man begins to look. He knows those shoulders, those hips, those thighs pressed between his. The man realizes Jaskier is walking up and turns.

“Hey, sugar!”

Spider Bites. Of course it’d be him.

“H-hi!” Jaskier says breathlessly. God, he forgot how handsome he was. “Whatcha doin?”

“Ain’t it obvious? I’m decorating ole’ Eddie Eagle Owl.” He gestures up at the partially-papered wings, grinning. “Wanna help me? Go faster with two.”

Jaskier blurts out a “yes!” before he has the chance to even think about how bad of an idea this is. He’s handed a roll with the end already ripped off. Jaskier gives it a little toss over the bronze bird mascot. Spider Bites is right, it does go faster with two, the bird blending into the rest of the snowy quad.

“Looks like a mummy,” Jaskier says. This makes Spider Bites laugh, tossing his head back.

“I was just thinking the same thing, sugar.” He leans in closer, and puts an arm around his shoulder. Jaskier feels his face blushing furiously, the simple act pulling deep in him, like there’s a hook just behind his belly button. “You know what else I’m thinkin’?” God, they’re so close now. Jaskier can hardly think straight, not when there’s the barest glint of light coming off of Spider Bites’ piercings. 

“What else are you thinking?” Jaskier breathes, just a bit weak at the knees.

“I think the Sapkowski building needs a facelift. C’mon.” Jaskier yelps a little at the soft pat on his ass, but he follows the man like a puppy. Thank god Triss and Yen aren’t here to see this.

At the Sapkowski Liberal Arts building, Spider Bites kneels down in front of his backpack, rummaging around for something. “What do you have planned for tonight?” Jaskier asks, when he sees the end of a bright orange traffic cone that shouldn’t be able to fit in a backpack that size.

“Oh, a whole mess of things, sugar. I don’t think you’ll be able to boost me, so I’ll boost you.”

Jaskier has a moment to squawk, “Whaa—?” before he’s being lifted up onto a shoulder, several feet off the ground. His thighs clamp around the head between them, and his hands go to Spider Bites’ head. “What?” he finally bites out.

“You’re fine, c’mon, I already put the tape on, smack them on up there.” A few pieces of paper are passed up to Jaskier. It takes only a moment for him to understand the plan, and when he does, he starts giggling hysterically. “I know, I know, c’mon!” Jaskier can hardly breathe, he’s laughing so hard, but he smacks the letters up on the wall, the tape sticking true.

Two large, warm hands come up to grab his waist and lift him like it’s no big deal. Jaskier is breathless for a second, being lifted to the ground. He turns to face the man, heart caught in his throat. There’s a small silence before bright, clear laughter peals past those studded lips.

“Do you have any classes in the Sapkowski Liberally Farts building?” Spider Bites asks between laughs. There are tears in his eyes, endearing as all hell.

_ Oh, wow, I’m in trouble, aren’t I? _

Jaskier joins the laughter, boldly reaching out and putting an arm around Spider Bites’ waist. There’s an initial shock, a moment before the man melts into the affection. Jaskier’s heart pounds in his chest, his pulse going wild.

They look at each other, eyes bright with happiness and mouths split in grins. “Can I kiss you again, sugar?” Spider Bites says sweetly.

“Yes, please,” Jaskier whispers, leaning into his embrace. Soft lips press against his, the steel studs surprisingly warm. He’s dizzy on endorphins and just the feeling of him, a beacon of warmth in the freezing weather. Jaskier whimpers into his mouth when teeth nip gently at his lower lip and withdraw.

“God, you still taste just as sweet.” Jaskier shudders at the compliment, flushing with praise he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“I...thank you?” he sputters, hands still fisted in Spider Bites’ sweater. His voice is a few octaves higher than he remembers it being.

“Now that’s a pretty sound,” Spider Bites murmurs, brushing the pad of a gloved finger over Jaskier’s lower lip. It’s a heady feeling, leaving him a little dizzy. After one more quick peck to the lips, Jaskier is left cold again. “Night’s not over yet. Still coming?”

They wander through campus, looking for something specific that Spider Bites won’t tell him about, until… “Aha!” he exclaims. “There we go. Okay. Need you to trust me a bit, alright?” Earnest golden eyes search his.

“I trust you,” Jaskier whispers, holding the backpack given to him. The cone comes out of it. “Just don’t hurt me.”

It’s a precious moment, standing in the snow with a boy, asking him not to hurt you. They both seem to know this. A hand wraps around the back of Jaskier’s neck, holding him steady. Every point of his fingers sends thrilling sparks down his spine, lighting every fuse he has.

“I won’t. I promise.” They share another kiss, more serious and sure, this time. “Don’t follow me up.”

“Wh—?”

Jaskier has no time to process what he’s said before Spider Bites is  _ ascending a telephone pole. _

“What are you doing?!” Jaskier hisses, watching in horror as the man shimmies up, the cone balanced on his head. “I hope you know how to get down!”

“Will you calm down? I’ve done this before,” is called down from above, followed by a grunt.

“Wait, that was  _ you?” _ Jaskier is obviously impressed by the man’s physical coordination and agility, and, if he’s being honest with himself, (which he isn’t too fond of doing) the danger of the entire stunt.

“One second, sugar, and I’ll kiss you all about it.” Jaskier can barely hear him now, because he’s up at the top. The cone is balanced on top, and horrifyingly—

“Are you  _ taking a selfie?!” _

Jaskier hugs the backpack closer, curious as to what else Spider Bites has planned. All that seems to be left in there, though, are—

“Are these googly eyes?” Jaskier nearly jumps out of his skin, having not seen or heard Spider Bites descend the pole. He’s stalking over to him and the backpack.

“Yeah, I love shit like that. One second.” Jaskier finds his world tilting precariously as he’s dipped into another deep kiss. He can’t stay horrified for long, not when he feels that grin on his mouth again. It’s intoxicating.  _ He’s _ intoxicating. Jaskier is breathless once more when he’s let up. “There. Told you I’d kiss you all about it. Look. Not a scratch. Wanna see the picture?” Jaskier is sure he’s going to get whiplash from this whole situation but nods dumbly at whatever he’s asked.

As he opens his phone to show Jaskier, there are several messages on the front screen, from three different senders telling him not to be stupid. The messages are gone in a second, though, when he pulls the photo up.

“You’re adorable,” Jaskier blurts out. It’s the first time he’s able to get Spider Bites even a little bit bashful. Jaskier kisses his cheek.

“I could send it to you if you want.” Jaskier is nodding frantically before he finishes speaking, pulling his phone out of his pocket with freezing hands. He has nothing but cracks in the glass on his front screen, but that’s...typical. “Here, lemme just…”

Just like that, Jaskier has his number, his picture, and his name.

“Lambert,” Jaskier says softly. His mind feels both blank and racing with a thousand thoughts at the same time.

“Yeah, that’s me!” Spider B— _ Lambert _ says happily, tucking his phone away again. “Googly eyes?” he asks, holding out his hand.

Jaskier takes it. “Googly eyes.”

The job takes over an hour, plastering googly eyes to every movable object they can think of, shaking the ones they can pick up. “Mr. Chair thinks you have a great ass,” Lambert flirts, shaking one of the chairs in his hands. The eyes wiggle like crazy.

“Mr. Planter Box wishes he had the view Mr. Chair did.” Jaskier points to his vandalized furniture. 

Rubbish bins. Door handles. Handrails. The fucking mascot again. Nothing proves to be safe from Jaskier, Lambert, and their horde of googly eyes. They’re barely breathing for the laughter by the end. “You need a ride home? You’re looking like a popsicle.”

“I can just get an uber, it’s—”

“Nonsense. Let me drive you home. My last few plans are on the way to my car anyway.” Lambert zips up the bag and shoulders it. Jaskier takes his hand again.

In the parking lot, they very carefully draw eyes and mouths in the snow on top of the windshields. It’s surprisingly sweet and wholesome if Jaskier says so himself. At the last in the row of cars, Jaskier can’t feel his hands, even though his gloves protected him from most of the snow. “Aw, sugar, c’mere.” Jaskier falls into Lambert’s arms, shuddering at the sudden warmth he finds himself wrapped in. Lambert makes small little noises into his hair, pressing kisses all over. “I know how we could warm up.”

Jaskier looks up at him, at his quirked eyebrow and his smirk. It’s a bit familiar, but he can’t for the life of him place why. He buries his frozen nose in Lambert’s neck and nods. Lambert huffs a laugh and fishes out some car keys, tapping a few buttons before leading Jaskier into the lot.

Lambert drives a Range Rover. It looks new, despite the snow that had fallen on it during their activities. “Holy shit, Lambert,” Jaskier whispers. Predictably, Lambert opens the back door, ushering him in.

He lets out an unrestrained moan at the heat. “Fucking shit, sugar, warn a guy when you wanna make those noises,” Lambert says on his way to kiss him.

They hold each other gently at first, but their hands roam and zippers come down and clothes come off the more they warm up. Jaskier whines into Lambert’s mouth, sucking on those piercings how he’s wanted to all night long. Lambert’s hands come up and play with his own piercings, under his shirt. Jaskier climbs into Lambert’s lap.

They’re down to half-open pants and their closest shirt layers at this point. Jaskier gives a steady grind down onto his lap, and Lambert’s hands come up to his hips. “Fuck, sugar, gonna kill me like this,” he laughs between moans. “Hold on, hold on, hold on—”

Jaskier stops. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t wanna let this go further. Not...not tonight, in here. I wanna treat you good, sugar.” That bashfulness comes back again. Jaskier’s heart surges.

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

“My name is Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” Lambert says with a soft smile.

“Lambert,” Jaskier replies with a slow, deep kiss. “Is this alright?” he asks against Lambert’s lips.

“Please,  _ Jaskier,  _ never stop kissing me.”

_ Fuck, I’m in so much fucking trouble. _


	6. Keg Stand Intimacy and The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can get a little heavy. If you're at all uncomfortable with themes revolving around college drinking, check the warnings at the end of the chapter to prepare yourself better.

Late fall is killing Jaskier slowly, in a completely unsexy way. Triss and Yen haven't gotten off his back since they heard about what happened in the park with Mysterious Beanie. That had been a mortifying talk and ended with Jaskier feeling rather small.

Luckily, Vesemir was more than accommodating in that time, providing not only a thrilling distraction from the Greek tragedy his life is becoming but also an open ear to his troubles. Jaskier doesn't tell Yen and Triss about the dozens of times he’s over at Vesemir’s and not “studying in the cafe”, because they'd be even angrier if they knew he was fucking the guy he passed out on top of on the down-low.

Asking Vesemir to see him more over the wintertime seems unfair of him to ask. He's dreading the low temperatures on the weather forecast that drop further and further each day. Finals keep his head in the game, luckily, his  _ actual _ study evenings spent in the library or in one of several local haunts with free wifi. He hasn't gone back to the open-mic he met Mysterious Beanie at, despite the wonderful time they had in the park.

However, with Triss and Yen's departure back home for winter break drawing ever nearer, Jaskier can't help but feel a little helpless. They hit the road the day after finals end, leaving Jaskier alone for six weeks of cold. The previous winter he spent in the apartment, the heating bill had been too much to handle, in addition to the rent. He never told Triss about that.

Seeing them drive off, though, is always a heartache. He spends the rest of the afternoon moping before he checks his timelines, searching for a kickback. He scores, finding an end-of-term rager being held at a house downtown. It's close enough to the club that Jaskier might be able to go see Vesemir if the party sucks.

He's not dressed as well as he normally is when he goes out, instead sporting black jeans and an oversized tie-dye hoodie. He soon realizes he doesn't know anybody at the party, and seeing several people doing harder drugs scares him a little. He shoots Triss a text.

_ Miss you already. _

She responds within seconds.

_ Don't miss me too much, I'll call you tomorrow when we're home safe. _

Jaskier sighs and refills his beer, feeling a little depressed and reckless. Two beers fade to too many beers, to too many shots, to an ill-accepted dare to do a keg stand. He hadn't done one in awhile, so he's a little nervous to actually get up and do it. He grasps the handles on the keg, leaning over it like it'd hurt him. He gives a short nod, too afraid to speak. Two hands lift him up by his legs, and he doesn’t recognize them entirely, but they feel familiar for sure. He sucks beer into his gut like it’s air and he’s drowning. He doesn’t want to remember tonight.

When he feels done, he signals by kicking his legs back and forth, and he’s set down. There’s a bucket in front of his face, but he holds it down, to the triumphant cheers of the other revelers. He isn’t cheering, though, he’s gaping openly.

Mysterious Beanie and Sexy Everything are standing right before him, beers in hand, wearing matching smirks. Mysterious Beanie has his signature black beanie on, but no jacket or scarf, like last time. It’s too hot inside the room for outerwear. Jaskier sees the scars, long-healed but brutal, all up and down his arms and neck. They’re a little less healed than the ones on his face, but facial scars tended to heal faster anyway. Jaskier looks between him and Sexy Everything, who’s in a long-sleeved black tee with a gym logo on it. It had apparently survived the scissors where his other shirts had not. His hair hangs loose, silvery-white waves spilling over his broad shoulders, held back in place by another backward baseball cap.

“Am I awake?” Jaskier slurs, before passing out in their arms.

* * *

He isn’t quite sure where he is when he wakes up. He knows he’s in a bed. It’s not his bed, it’s too soft and warm and big to be his bed. And his bed doesn’t have two massive, naked hunks in it.

_ Uh-oh. _

Jaskier checks himself over, patting himself down as gently as possible, checking for bruising, broken anything, even—no, he hadn’t fucked the night before. Holy shit, what  _ had _ he done the night before? He feels...actually, he feels better than he deserves, no throbbing headache or nausea, not even the taste of stale beer in his mouth. In fact, his mouth tastes faintly of cinnamon and mint.  _ What? _

There’s a groan from beside him, and suddenly a hand on his hip, heavy and large and familiar and—

He’s in bed with Mysterious Beanie and Sexy Everything.

_ UH-OH. _

He wonders fleetingly if he has time to make a break for his phone, which he barely sees through blurry eyes. Fuck, he even took out his contacts last night. But even if he gets to his phone, does it have charge? Does he have money for a ride home? Does he—

“You think too much in the morning.”

He isn’t sure where it comes from, or rather— _ who _ it comes from, but Jaskier still shrieks like he’s twelve years old again, clutching the covers.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down there, darling, we’ve got you, it’s alright…”

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sexy, you just looked like you were gonna cry…”

“Come lay back down, what time is it, darling, why’re you up at seven a.m.?”

“Yeah, lay back down, sleep a little more. Plenty of hours in the day left to worry over. Sleep.”

Jaskier gives a little whimper as he’s pulled back down into bed, the plush duvet pulled up over his shoulders. It’s so warm and comfortable, and his two bedpartners smell so nice, so...he sleeps in a little more.

* * *

He’s jarred again at the sound of a shower turning off and a sudden burst of steamy, hot air in the room. He picks his head up from the pillow, sinfully soft and—oh yeah, that’s silk, and— _ oh yeah, where the fuck am I? _

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Mysterious Beanie, sans beanie, sans...everything but a towel, walks in. The small excuse for a towel does nothing to hide his rather impressive morning wood.  _ Don’t normal people handle that  _ in _ the shower? _

“I um, hi?” Jaskier squeaks. There’s a rumble from behind him, grumpy and deep, and he realizes he’s pressed up against a broad chest, held in place by incredibly thick arms, and being nuzzled by who he suspects is Sexy Everything, if his most recent memory wasn’t a dream…

“Oh, quit it, Geralt. Go shower,” Mysterious Beanie said, whipping off his towel as he stands in front of a dresser, pawing through a drawer like he isn’t  _ naked and still slightly dripping wet. _

Wait,  _ Geralt? _

“D’n wanna,” comes a grumble from Jaskier’s neck. “Comfy here. He smells nice.”

“...Geralt?” Jaskier tries, the word slightly foreign in his mouth. He frowns at the snap of elastic around Mysterious Beanie’s trim waist. God, the scars even trail onto his back…

“Mmmhm...say’gain.” Sexy Ev— _ GERALT _ says into his neck, snuggling even closer.  _ Why do they just let their morning wood sit like that? Masochists. _

“Geralt, why am I in bed with you?” Jaskier tries one more time.

This seems to stop both men in their tracks.

“You don’t remember last night?” 

Jaskier’s silence speaks volumes. Geralt (GERALT!) sits up behind him and  _ dear god, he’s at least clothed, but  _ mesh _ is not modest. _

“Will you trust us if we tell you, darling?” Mysterious Beanie sits on the bed, his stupidly perfect ass just a few inches from Jaskier’s foot.

“I don’t know your name,” Jaskier admits shyly. “I don’t like not knowing your name.”

His face softens and he lays a hand on Jaskier’s foot. “I’m Eskel.” He shakes Jaskier’s foot a little. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Jaskier. I’m—you can call me Jaskier.” They all sigh.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says. “And Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel says with a smile. “Do you trust me more now, darling?” 

Jaskier balls his hands in the comforter and nods. “I remember doing a keg stand.”

“And then you passed out on us. You had to throw up after about ten minutes, so we let you, and made sure you drank water and ate something. We walked through a drive-thru by the house.”

“You threw that up too, but it’s fine,” Geralt interjected.

“We asked if you wanted someone to take you home, and you started crying a little. The house was already being shut down by the cops, so we made sure you had your keys, wallet, phone - hope that’s your phone. And we took you to our place. Geralt carried you around like a little ragdoll. It was so cute.”

“You’re really cute.”

“Yeah, you are. After we got in, it was pretty late but we made sure you were drinking water, ate something else, we had a spare toothbrush so we managed to get you to brush your teeth and ready for bed. We threw out your contacts, they were ripped. Sorry.”

“You looked all cold on the couch too, so we asked if you wanted to sleep in one of our beds, you cried when Eskel tried to go back to his room so we all slept here. Dunno when you took your clothes off, but you did that, not us.”

“M’not used to being so warm,” Jaskier grumbles. He very vaguely remembers all the things they said, despite the mortifying nature of him throwing up  _ twice _ and crying all over the place. “God, I must owe you so much money…”

“For what, darling?” Eskel looks confused.

“F-for the food, and the-the ride, and I dunno,  _ lodging _ and all…” Jaskier buries his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me, there’s nothing to be sorry for…” Geralt pries his fingers out of his hair. Jaskier is about to cry again. “Shh, shh, shh…” He’s squashed against a large chest and it stifles all the rest of his upset spiraling.

“Why don’t you two go shower?” Eskel suggests, rubbing Jaskier’s calf distractingly. “Was thinking of ordering something and watching  _ Road to Perdition.” _

“We are not watching Tom Hanks die again,” Geralt demands. “You wanna go shower, Jaskier? I can wait while you’re in there, or—”

“Please shower with me,” Jaskier squeaks from between Geralt’s pecs.

“Alright, up we go, then.” With another squeal of surprise, Jaskier is being lifted up, and walked into a bathroom the size of his apartment. He gapes. The shower alone could fit a car, and looks to have at least five showerheads on first glance. “Putting you down.” Geralt doesn’t even grunt before he’s setting Jaskier on his feet. The tiles are warmer than he expected. He lifts a foot in surprise.

“Heated tiles,” Eskel says from the doorway.

“Quit watching, go watch your sad wank movie.” Geralt opens the shower door for Jaskier and lets him in. He drops the mesh briefs to the floor and walks in as well. Jaskier holds back a whimper and keeps his eyes at or above shoulder-level. “You like it hot, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, fiddling with a very complicated series of handles just a moment before a rush of wet heat surrounded them.

Jaskier’s surprised moan of delight made Geralt freeze for the first time. The cool, confident demeanor shakes away for a moment, sending a thrill down Jaskier’s spine. “You don’t even have to wait for it to warm up?” Jaskier whimpers.

Geralt wetted his hair under the showerhead - one of them, I don’t know. There’s like a gajillion. “No, we’re set up pretty good here.” Geralt hands over a few things - the soap and hair products, Jaskier at least recognizes. He knows they cost more than his weekly food budget. And they smell fucking divine as he uses each of them. He never wants to leave this shower.

Geralt, it seems, has other plans to lengthen their stay. He comes forward, pulling Jaskier closer by his hips. “There. Better. Let me look at you.”

God, he could  _ feel _ Geralt’s gaze raking across his body, those golden eyes ripping his sanity, his control, to shreds. Up close, Jaskier can see the detail on Geralt’s tattooed ribs and hips, almost coming to life off of his skin. Just like he dreamed, the flames licked over his hipbone, and down his thick thigh. He only has a moment to realize he’s looking below his self-imposed eye-level before he is being spun around. “There, look at  _ that…” _ He shivers at the appraisal, nearly growled from the man behind him. “Fuck, you have a sweet ass.”

“I um, I like your butt too?” Jaskier has approximately four braincells left, and they’re all in priority shipment envelopes at his fully-funded, well-staffed post office.

Geralt chuckles behind him, and spins him again. “I’ll take it.” He’s whirled into Geralt’s thick arms, so close now. He feels small and exceptionally flustered in his embrace. He looks up into Geralt’s face.

“Hi,” Jaskier whispers.

“Hi,” Geralt whispers back. He pushes some hair out of Jaskier’s eyes and tilts his head to the side, before pressing in with an achingly gentle kiss that completely confirms and also rails against Triss’ insistence that he’s a player. Jaskier melts into his arms, standing on tiptoe so he can kiss back better. Geralt wastes no time, sliding his hands to the small of his back and behind his head. They’re breathless, panting, and hard, by the time they need to breathe.

Geralt’s eyes are blown out with lust, with desire, just thin bands of gold around deep black pupils. His lips are slightly pouty, and already wet from the shower. He looks fucking delicious. Jaskier surges up for another kiss, walking Geralt back to the wall. Geralt groans in the back of his throat and leans over, wrapping his hands around the backs of Jaskier’s knees and lifting him in the air. Jaskier gasps when his dick brushes against Geralt’s hard stomach, but clings on tight.

“Been thinking about you for weeks now, sexy,” Geralt pants into his mouth.

“M-me too— _ ohhh, please.” _ Jaskier whined as Geralt’s hands went to his ass, squeezing tight and kneading.

“Oh you want me to play with your ass?” Geralt laughs, licking his way down Jaskier’s neck. “I can do that too.” Jaskier holds on tighter, breath caught in his throat. One of Geralt’s fingers finds Jaskier’s hole, and he instinctively draws forward. “Shh, shh, shh, I’ve got you, there, just relax like that…”

Jaskier is fresh out of braincells by now, his focus only on that point of contact, rubbing in smooth, slow motions that leave him trembling. “You want more?” Geralt asks. Jaskier whines out an affirmative, and he’s set down on his feet. “Turn around for me.” Jaskier hears the snap of a bottle opening, and a squeezing noise. The lube is cold, but most everything is compared to the heat of the shower.

Jaskier spreads his legs a little, burying his face in his arms. “Please go gentle…” he whimpers.

“Wouldn’t be any other way with you.” There’s a kiss to his shoulder, and then a slow, sure slide of a finger into Jaskier’s ass. He keens and rocks backward onto it. Jaskier already felt very relaxed by the shower and the frankly, amazing sleep he got the night before, but knowing it was the object of his fantasies fingering him open? Jaskier is  _ flying. _

His jaw hangs loose and open as he moans from the feeling, fucking himself on that one, slick finger. Geralt presses open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder, grounding him with the sensation as he’s slowly taken apart. A bit more lube and two more fingers later, Jaskier is just about ready to scream in frustration. “G-Geralt.”

“Yes, sexy?” Another kiss.

“There better be a dick in me in the next five seconds, or I’ll—”

“Alright, let’s get you on the bed, then.” The beautiful hot spray of water keeping him dumbly unaware of his surroundings ceases quite suddenly, and Jaskier whines at the emptiness inside him. He’s pressed up against the wall of the shower stall, held in place with kisses. He’s vaguely aware of the shower door opening, and Eskel walking in with towels. Geralt pulls back to scrub himself dry, and Eskel takes over Jaskier’s attention.

“Hello again, darling.” His smile makes Jaskier’s stomach do flips. “You wanna come back to bed?”

Jaskier is out of words. He nods dumbly, and is gently toweled down, each patch of clean, dry skin kissed as much as possible. Between one breath and the next, he’s being pulled across the huge bathroom and back to the bedroom, rolled onto the bed. He giggles at the manhandling. He’d never quite liked partners that looked like they could snap him in half, but Geralt and Eskel are proving the antithesis to all his reason.

Geralt reclines back on the bed, pulling on his thick cock in slow, sure motions. Jaskier’s mouth waters at the sight, all those miles of bare and inked skin before him, that delicious-looking prick in reach, he—

“Want something in your mouth, then?” Geralt is smirking; of course he’d seen Jaskier’s reaction to his little show. Jaskier nods eagerly and clambers over, hovering half-over Geralt’s legs, on all fours. Geralt spreads his legs a little wider and holds his cock upright by the base, an offering. Jaskier wastes no time letting his mouth wrap around the head, sucking the taste of that little bead of precum into his mouth. His tongue swirls indulgently, enjoying the texture and groaning around the girth. Geralt gives an answering groan as Jaskier lowers his head down, locking eyes with the white-haired man beneath him. “Cheeky,” Geralt pants, enjoying himself far too much.

Jaskier is about to really start getting into it when a weight settles behind him, a hand over the small of his back. “This alright, darling?” Eskel asks. Jaskier gives a little shake of his bum backward, feeling Eskel’s already condomed cock nudge against him. “Fuck,” Eskel breathes.

Being here, between these two hunks and about to be fucked within an inch of his sanity, Jaskier feels like a god. Eskel lubes up around his hole a bit more, and then he’s pushing in, slow and just as stomach-flipping as his smile. Jaskier moans and shakes as he’s filled, stretched open on his prick. He’s taken a cock before, but never with this kind of care, this kind of reciprocated pleasure from his partners. He sucks Geralt’s cock in earnest when Eskel begins rocking in and out of him.

It’s a slow and sleepy thing, remnants of their wild night carrying over into their bodies. The warm showers they’d all had only lulled them back into that soft and warm state. Eskel covers nearly all of Jaskier’s back and neck with his torso, keeping him covered and held throughout. Jaskier loses himself in the rhythm of it, gentle and eternal like the ocean’s waves.

Or so he thinks. Jaskier has never been to the ocean.

Perhaps a very gentle community pool.

“Stay with us, darling, can hear you thinking again, just…” Eskel gives a particularly direct thrust of his hips, driving his cock in deep. “Feel.”

Jaskier moans loudly around Geralt’s length, hazy blue eyes meeting gold. He feels.

He feels the gentle flexing of muscles under his hands, thighs too strong for a wealthy college student. He feels the still-damp humidity radiating off of their bodies, a warm hot spring made of just the three of them. He feels the hands on his hips sliding, gliding against his skin up to his chest, where he’s always been a little insecure about his chest hair, but they skip the fun toys of his nipple piercings and stay there, buried in his masculine features like there’s no place else Eskel wants to touch. He feels the strong hands in his hair, petting and pulling and probably deliberately fucking up the way it will dry. He feels the way the thick vein on the underside of Geralt’s cock surrenders to the firm insistence of his lips, of his tongue. He feels air in his lungs like he never has before.

The entire time, Eskel whispers promises and praise into his ear, nipping gently at the lobe and kissing the cute hoop piercing there. Between his words and soft pleasure-moans, Eskel sinks his teeth into the top of his shoulder, right in the meat of him, as sure and deep and relentless as the cock buried in his ass.

Geralt is determined to let himself be pleasured, but doesn’t hold back his own noises, a hedonist in his natural habitat. He squirms and writhes and wiggles a little, slithering on the soft silk like he wants to move away and never leave at the same time. The hair around his face has dried a bit; it curls at the edges. It leaves him looking soft and ethereal, not of this world. No wonder he wears the things he does and acts the way he does.

His only wish through this all is that he could see Eskel’s face as he comes, reaching his peak quite suddenly. It surprises him, the gasp in his ear making that very much apparent. Jaskier moans at the break in rhythm, the stuttering hips and squeeze of the arms around him. The teeth sink in one final time, not hard enough to seriously hurt, but enough to know it will leave a mark.

The thought of being marked, being claimed, brings Jaskier over the edge just as Eskel had: without warning. He comes untouched across the bedsheets, and there’s a frantic panic about the laundry, but then his mouth is being filled with Geralt’s own release, and there’s better things to think about.

He makes sure to look Geralt in the eye as he swallows his load, mouth still full of cock. Geralt and Eskel swear in tandem, both of them overwhelmed by the picture presented to them. Jaskier pops off when he’s satisfied, and gives a small whine as Eskel pulls out. He’s glad for the condom - messes aren’t usually what he wants with strangers.

_ Not really strangers now, are they? _

Eskel cleans up in the washroom for just a minute, but in that time, Geralt has pulled Jaskier up the bed and kissed him soundly stupid. He’s overjoyed by the tender affection and care they’re giving, it’s just...something’s missing.

He isn’t sure what, and he does his best to keep it from showing on his face or his body language, but it stays at the front of his mind the long minutes after he’s cleaned up and set gently on the bed again. They take care of him so well, and without anything in return. A more rational part of his mind tells him that no, things are  _ not _ unbalanced, he just had two cocks in him at the same time, but his mind is still hazy from the myriad sensations he’d been focusing on just before.

He locates his clothes quickly and quietly, and his things, and while they’re dozing, sneaks away.

* * *

The ride back to his apartment is much too expensive, and he felt rather disoriented. Everything feels very familiar and foreign at the same time, and he can’t stop the sensation of his skin crawling. His emotions surge like a roller coaster at every turn the cab makes, and he stares at his phone to try and ignore the overwhelming feeling building.

_ Don't miss me too much, I'll call you tomorrow when we're home safe. _

Triss’ text makes his chest ache something brutal, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle hearing his friend’s voice without losing it and crying.

_ feeling sick today, don’t think i can talk v much _

It’s a dumb lie, but one he knows will keep her at bay a bit until he’s ready to talk without scream-crying through the phone. He opens up his next-most-recent text thread.

_ Thinking of ur stupid beautiful face xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxxxxxxxxx ;) _

Lambert’s message pulls at his heart, but the sorrow growing in his chest is too much to reciprocate the affections right now. He goes to the next thread.

_ Good luck with your last exams. I’d love to see you again soon. _

Vesemir’s text is simple and clear, and Jaskier has to stifle a sob and a laugh all at once. He doesn’t deserve either of their affections; he’d just slept with two guys he didn’t know the name of until that morning. What would they think if they knew?

It takes five tries to get his key in the door, and he’s unsure the effort is even worth it as he stumbles through the cold and dark hallway. His room is furthest from the door, and furthest from any heating he’d have allowed while Triss is staying there.

He’s unconscious before his face hits the frigid bedspread, and the ice cold pillow keeps his dreams frozen and dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: talk of vomiting, blacking out/losing memory while drinking, and implied subdrop. next chapter will include something of a dramatic rescue and partial reveal.


	7. Sub Rescue

Vesemir knows something’s very, very wrong the moment Eskel and Geralt fall over themselves to get through the penthouse door. He’s in the middle of showing Lambert the books for November when they burst in, half-dressed and frantic. He can tell they’ve just been having a bit of morning fun when they come in, but that wild look in their eyes halts the pleased feeling in his gut. “What is it?”

“He—we brought him home and—”

“He’s gone, I’m not, we didn’t—”

“Why’d he go?”

Vesemir holds a hand up and levels them with a sharp look. “Come here. Sit. Angel, what happened?”

His angel, his Eskel, flushes like he always does at the name. “H-he.  _ We. _ Went to a party last night. And um, Jaskier was there?”

_ “Jaskier?” _ Lambert blurts out.

“Hush, lamb.”

“He was there, he was really upset and drunk and—” Vesemir grows more concerned before he’s assured again, and then Eskel says, “And this morning, we just wanted to fool around, and—”

“Wait, you fucked Jaskier?” Vesemir says, interrupting him. Eskel’s mind spirals away quite visibly, but Vesemir has no time to assure him he’s not in trouble. “Boy?” Geralt snaps to attention where he sits.

“We did. We had sex.” Gods, he sounds like he’s being sent to the gallows.

“I’m going to need you to be explicitly clear what happened.”

Vesemir’s initial concern returns tenfold as the story is told. In just the limited number of intimate exchanges he’s had with his bunny, he’s noticed a few things. First, that Jaskier is very self-conscious and seeks to lessen his impact on the space around him, even to the point of breathing quieter to be less heard. It’s made for a few tearful moments getting to know him, like he hadn’t been certain Vesemir actually cared about him more than sexually. That realization had hurt quite a bit. The second was that Jaskier was a few feet from walking off the edge, whether it be financially, hunger-wise, emotionally, or mentally. Vesemir has owned his club for a very long time and knows college students have it rough when they’re different from their parent’s expectations. Jaskier had taken his father’s rejection roughly.

The third, though, was that Vesemir knows Jaskier couldn’t handle much praise in bed without needing some significant talking down. His poor bunny, he’d seen subs react to slaps to the face better than how Jaskier reacted to being called his good boy. From what Vesemir was being told, Jaskier had gotten quite a lot of praise while fucking Eskel and Geralt. His quiet departure spoke volumes of a book Vesemir had hoped never to read.

He sighs once after Geralt finishes his retelling. Eskel looks very pale, almost sick. Geralt looks worried, like anything he’d said would lead to a very uncomfortable punishment. Lambert is looking at Vesemir with too much worry in those soulful eyes. He sighs again. “I’m going to say this once because we need to hurry.” His boys all stiffen at the subtle command:  _ Listen. _ “I am not upset, and you did not break any rules or disappoint me in any way for having sex with Jaskier. I’d actually hoped to get you all on the same mattress at some point. But that’s neither here nor there. You did everything right, and I’ll explain more after we come back, but what we need to do right now is get dressed, and go to him, right now. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” all three say in unison.

“Good. I’ll meet you in the garage.” Eskel and Geralt scramble to dress for going out in the cold, and Lambert got the coats. Vesemir accepts his and lays a reassuring hand on the back of Lambert’s neck. “I’ll explain more later. You know where he lives, lamb. Need you to take us there.”

He feels Lambert swallow nervously, but it’s followed by a sure nod that makes him proud. They’d figure this out. He owes a lot to his boys for their confidence and trust in him, and isn’t planning on letting them down.

The four of them set out in Vesemir’s car, Lambert at the wheel, driving silent and tense through downtown and then near the university campus. Vesemir knows Jaskier’s address, knows the four numbers, three words, apartment number of the location, but seeing it is something else.

The building is probably violating several dozen zoning and health codes, and whatever Jaskier is paying in rent is probably too much by far for what it’s worth. The place is a dump. Vesemir’s car looks wildly out of place. It’s a miracle that Eskel and Geralt keep their mouths shut about it, spoiled and used to luxury as they are. Lambert just looks tense as he parks in front of a building. They file out after him through a stairwell, the only light coming from the mid-afternoon sun at end of the hallway, the fluorescents having burned out long ago.

“14H,” Vesemir says, sighing. He gives a knock to the door, firm and most likely quite loud, by the pregnant silence that precedes it. They wait, ears straining to listen for movement within. Vesemir knocks again, and when there’s no response, pulls out his phone, calling Jaskier. They hold their breath as they listen. Just faintly, from deep within the apartment, they hear the sound of a phone ringing.  _ He’s inside. _ “Lambert,”

“Got it.” He moves aside as Lambert crouches down, fiddling with the lock and a few gadgets, remnants of his old life. The door handle pops open with a loud click, and they’re in.

The apartment is freezing, they can see their own breath before their faces as they move around. Geralt and Eskel still haven’t said a word, taking it in before them. It’s a very small, very cramped place, with hardly any natural light, despite being on the second floor. Vesemir spares a glance to the tiny kitchen before he’s prowling through the apartment, opening a door at the coldest end of the hallway.

There’s a Jaskier-sized lump shivering beneath a blanket. He hadn’t even had the energy to climb under the covers, and was still in his jeans and shoes. Vesemir crouches at the head of the bed and pulls the blanket back. “Bunny?”

“Daddy…” Jaskier croaks. He’s a mess, eyes puffy and red, tears streaked down his face. His lip looks irritated, like he’s been gnawing at it. His hands are curled up by his chest protectively, trying to keep body heat in. The room feels just as cold as outside.

“Hey, there…” Vesemir pushes a lock of Jaskier’s hair out of his face, before holding his chilly cheeks. Jaskier can only whimper and lean into the warm touch, desperate for comfort. Vesemir feels heartache at the sight, and knows his boys feel just as upset. “Eskel, pack a bag for him. Lambert, start the car and keep it warm. Geralt, come here.” His boys scramble to comply, Eskel filling a bag with clothes and essentials, Lambert leaving the apartment. “We’re gonna take care of you, bunny. Got that?”

“You...you’re all here?” Jaskier rasps out, confused.

“I’ll explain when we’re home, alright?” Vesemir promises, and Jaskier nods once, still out of it. Vesemir wraps him up tight in the blankets, tucking a little bunny toy in with him, before Geralt picks him up.

Geralt doesn’t let go of him the entire ride back to the condo. Lambert’s jaw is clenched painfully, concentrating on the road ahead. Eskel is fidgeting a little in his seat. Vesemir feels tired, weary, deep in his bones.

They’d take care of him. He just wished he’d known what Jaskier was dealing with sooner.


	8. We? We. Us? Us.

Jaskier wakes in a bed, far too soft and warm and  _ occupied _ to be his own. Looking around, he sees fine furnishings in the wide bedroom suite, a sitting area at one end and a small bar at the other. Though the curtains are drawn from the bright overcast light, he knows he’s high up by the peek of skyline through them. The windows cover an entire wall, as wide as the room itself, and open onto a balcony, though he can’t see what’s out there. A clock on the wall declares it mid-afternoon, though he knows he got home at around ten in the morning. That was after…

_ Geralt and Eskel. _

_ A cab ride. _

_ ‘Good luck with your last exams. I’d love to see you again soon.’ _

_ “We’re gonna take care of you, bunny. Got that?” _

He finally notices there’s a stuffed bunny toy on his hands, and looks around with a little more clarity. He sees a backpack of his on the ground nearby, and a gym bag with some shoes. His guitar case. This must be Vesemir’s apartment. But there were...there were four of them. Weren’t there?

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice says, coming in from a door near the bar. Vesemir walks in, wearing comfortable black pants and a gray shirt, the buttons open at the top to reveal a little vee of his chest hair. He looks relaxed, here. “How are you feeling?” He sits with Jaskier.

“I’m...what happened? I’m not so sure of...much.”  _ That’s an understatement. _

“Well, after you left Geralt’s room, you probably subdropped so hard you didn’t know where you were. You went back to your apartment, and when we found you, you were pre-hypothermic. Your core temperature was at around 94 degrees.”

“I was what?” Jaskier grips his bunny harder. He knew things got cold in the winter, but he usually bundled up on his no-heat days...

“Why didn’t you turn the heating on, bunny? You could’ve gotten seriously sick like that. I almost had a doctor make a housecall for you, but they told me with rest and enough fluids you should be alright. Now tell me.”

“I…” Jaskier is bashful, ashamed, but answers anyway. “Too expensive to heat the place in winter. S’why I was partying last night. Didn’t wanna go back. It’s…in winter, it’s just me there. Triss, my roommate, she goes home. You know I don’t really have a place to go back to.” Vesemir does know, but is still upset that Jaskier felt the need to put his wellbeing on the line in order to save some money. “Please don’t be angry, Daddy.”

“Oh, no, bunny…” Vesemir moves up and wraps his arms around Jaskier, pulling him in for a hug. His hair is still mussed from his earlier activities with the boys, and even smells like them. Vesemir shoves down the thrill of the thought and focuses on the present. “I’m not angry with you. Thank you for telling me, it makes me happy when you tell me things that worry you, that you trust me.”

Jaskier melts into his arms, holding him in return. He shudders through a half-sob, just grateful to be here with someone who cares about him. He’s never doubted that from Vesemir, has always known. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He gets another kiss to his head for his troubles.

“We’ll be alright, don’t worry about us.” Jaskier remembers something and sits back.

“We.”

“We?”

“Us.”

“Us. Yes, they’re all climbing the walls worried right now.”

“You...you mean…” Jaskier feels his head growing a little light, but it’s not from the hypothermia. Probably. “They.”

“Yes, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert. They all live here with me. I’m...I suppose you’d call me their sugar daddy, I like having them close and taken care of, is all.”

_ Oh god, Triss is going to kill me. It  _ is _ a sexy cult. The fuckin’ wet dream gang’s all here. _

“You look faint.” Vesemir helps lower him down to the bed again. “Do you want me to stop talking about them?”

“No, I’m...It’s just. A bit much. Did you all. Um. Am I being groomed for a cult or something?” Jaskier clutches the bunny in his arms. “Is this like the fucking anime where I have to be an escort to pay back a vase I broke? Did I break a vase?! House calls are probably expensive, and I don’t. Uh. Well. You know I don’t have money, I’m so sorry Daddy I didn’t—”

“Shh, shh, shh, none of that now. You’ve got it all wrong. Here, drink some water.” Jaskier takes small sips. “Don’t worry about the cost, you really, really don’t have to worry. I’m not going to ask you to pay back anything to me, ever.” Vesemir kisses his head. “Have you ever had a drop like that before, Jaskier?” He shakes his head shyly. Vesemir hums thoughtfully. “It might be good if I knew about some of your medical history - just mental health.”

“What?”

“Humor me.”

“I’m a broke starving slutty bisexual college student. I’ve got a full courseload every semester and I was kicked out after high school. That’s uh, depression, anxiety, no support network, probably trauma and trust issues, if you wanted more I wouldn’t know what to call it. I don’t know why you want to know, though, and I want to know.”

Vesemir gives him a  _ why do you think _ face. “Alright, sassy, thank you. And I was hoping to ask you before the springtime, but things tend to get a bit dramatic where my boys are concerned.” Vesemir looks long-suffering and weary, though it’s playfully-edged.

“They’re...they’re not brothers, are they?”

“Oh no, god no. Met them all at different times. They’re all a little like you, kinda needed, wanted someone to take care of them. And in return I like taking care of them. It’s why they live here, with me. And why I wanted to ask you if you were interested.”

He’d kind of blown right by the ‘ask you before the springtime’ bit, but Vesemir’s blunt question of  _ be my sugar baby, live in my penthouse, and we can all— _

“And they fuck each other? And, and you’re not mad? I didn’t know if we were exclusive or if you wanted—I mean I’ve gone all the way with everyone but Lambert, and—”

Vesemir holds up a hand, ceasing his babble. “I do this, all this, to make you happy. There are things that make me happy outside of being able to take care of you, that fulfill me, but nothing like what the four of you do. I would do anything to keep that going for us. You’re all young. I’m not in any way concerned with how they want to get off without me, though frequently, it’s a four-man party in this very bed.” Jaskier blushes furiously. “You said it yourself, you’re a slutty person. I love that about you. I don’t want to stop you. I want to help you.”

“Even if...so you’re like all  _ together?” _ Jaskier sips some more water as Vesemir starts to explain.

“In a way, yes. We have an agreement that we can seek other partners if we’re safe. Being with you is no problem. Actually, the opposite of a problem. They’ve been really eager to get to know you. That’s if I get my way, though you won’t have to worry about that til we’ve all talked.” Jaskier sits back, surprised at the sheer absence of jealousy, knowing he’s not the only one getting Vesemir’s attention. At the same time, he’s relieved that his affection for the other three hasn’t disappointed Vesemir. He tells Vesemir as such. “To sum up, I just want you all happy. You make me happy.”

Jaskier wraps his arms around Vesemir again, kissing his cheek joyfully. “But if I were to…”

“I have a plan for that, but I think first, we should go see the others.”


	9. Sexy, Sexy Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes Vesemir in a sexual context, until the first line break.

Vesemir suggests a shower to help get his blood moving again. The bathroom is even larger than Geralt’s, built from a sandy beige marble on the floor, and blue slate tiles on the walls. There’s a whole mirrored-glass wall at the far end, with a large corner tub and a vanity. A separate, closed-off toilet blocks most of the light from getting in to the bedroom.

The shower, though.

It’s a walled-glass modern-art exhibit of plumbing excellence, with enough showerheads to wet God, and (as Vesemir points out) heated tiles. “Can’t even remember it’s winter in there.”

“No kidding. Can I move into this shower, Daddy? Thank you. I live here now.” Jaskier’s wanton moan echoes beautifully around the tiles. Vesemir takes off his shirt, dropping it into a hamper before going for his belt. “You’re coming too?” Jaskier asks excitedly, already back to his bubbly self.

“Of course,” Vesemir walks out of his pants and sidles up, naked and unbothered, to Jaskier. “May I?”

“Mhm, yes please.” Jaskier’s hands go up as Vesemir takes off his hoodie.

“Such good manners for me, bunny. I was missing you.”

Vesemir kisses his way down Jaskier’s body, leaving his bunny shivering even in the warmth of the bathroom. When he gets to his jeans, Vesemir lays kisses on his tummy as he works open the buttons and the fly. Jaskier gives a shuddering breath, feeling his eyes grow heavy at the sensation. He bites back a groan when Vesemir finally pushes his pants down, revealing his growing erection in his underwear.

“Maybe we’ll have time for that in a bit, bunny, I gotta take care of you first.”

Jaskier whines, but says, “Okay.” Vesemir tucks his thumbs into the waistband and slowly peels the briefs off as well, going slow enough that he can see Jaskier’s dick throb before him, exposed to the open air like this.

Once they’re both naked, Vesemir takes him into the shower, not bothering to give an explanation for the controls, instead letting Jaskier plaster himself to Vesemir’s back while he fiddles with them. He’s being good, though rather distracting, his hot length pressing against the backs of Vesemir’s thighs. The water that comes through the showerhead is instantly hot, deliciously so. Jaskier gasps into his shoulders, fingers digging into his waist. He’s not distressed, and Vesemir can tell he likes it. He turns.

“Let’s wash you down, be a good bunny for me and I’ll give you a treat.” Jaskier nods, already a little hazy-eyed.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Vesemir foams up a scrubber in his hands, the scent of the soap fresh and sharp, tangerine and clove. Jaskier can only deeply breathe in, appreciating the warm glide of the suds against his body. Vesemir moves rather methodically, taking his time where he knows Jaskier is sore, like in his shoulders and neck, his lower back, his wrist.

“Wish I’d have time to put you on my table, rub you down til you’re melting,” he says over the rush of the water.

“I’ve never had a massage,” Jaskier says. “I like your hands a lot though.” He is somehow able to blush even more than the heat had flushed his cheeks earlier.

“Thank you, bunny.” He continues washing, taking a leg in his hands one at a time and letting Jaskier balance against him as he scrubs him down. Jaskier feels tingly all over, everything smells like Vesemir and he can hardly remember his own name. “Let’s get this, hm?”

He gasps out a “Daddy!” when Vesemir yanks him closer, holding him firmly by his hip as a soapy hand wraps around his cock, giving a firm stroke up and down. He nearly trembles to a puddle and runs out the drain. He moans again as Vesemir continues, his hand strong and squeezing just hard enough to have him squirming.

“Don’t hold back, bunny, I wanna hear you.” Jaskier can’t help the moan that escapes at the request, nor Vesemir’s hand slipping down under his dick to play with his balls, rolling them in his hand and tugging teasingly at them. He keens higher when the hand moves even further, forcing him up onto his tiptoes to give him access to—

“Oh!” Jaskier gasps, burying his face in Vesemir’s neck. He’s still a little sore from Eskel’s rather  _ thorough _ dicking down, no matter how much prep Geralt had done earlier. Vesemir’s finger circles his his hole teasingly, always never enough. “Oh, Daddy, pleeeease, can I have more?”

“I’ll make you a deal. Since you were so good for me, I’ll let you choose. Do you want me to finger you or stroke you off? You only get to come with the second option.” Jaskier feels his blood  _ sing. _

Vesemir likes playing games like this. So many of Jaskier’s fantasies of late have included that phrase, “I’ll make you a deal.” Always rumbled in a low voice, teasing and never giving up a single ounce of control to his plaything. Jaskier knows he could get what he wants, or he could come, and both options are  _ fun, _ but he’s missed Daddy’s fingers too, and wants him to feel how loose he’d been stretched out.

“Fingers. Please,” Jaskier sobs out, gasping again when Vesemir immediately complies, sinking into the second knuckle.

He knows exactly what to say to get him going. “You’re still so stretched and open for me, bunny. Did you like taking a cock first thing in the morning?”

“Yes, Daddy! Yes yes yes I did I did…” Jaskier babbles as the finger starts to move. No matter how much he rocks back and forth, Vesemir never lets him take more than he’s given. He pushes in further, until he can feel the backs of his other fingers touch Jaskier’s balls. His cock gives a neglected twitch, but this isn’t about him. This is about his bunny.

“How’d they open you up, hm?”

“In the shower, Daddy, he. Against the wall.” Vesemir leads him over to one of the walls.

“Show me.” It’s an awkward shuffle to anyone but them, but Jaskier gets to the position he’d been that morning, ass popped out and back, head on his forearms against the wall. “Good, bunny. Bet you almost made them come right there, lookin like that.” Jaskier moans sharply at the praise. Vesemir follows it up with a spank, grounding him back in the moment. It wouldn’t be worth it to go to all that trouble just for him to drop again. “How many did he give you?”

“Three,” Jaskier moans.

“I’ll give you two, how’s that sound right now.” Jaskier’s about to whine again when Vesemir’s teeth bite down on his shoulder. “How’s that sound.”

“Sounds perfect, Daddy, please, I want two.” Jaskier loves this, the give and take, the tease. Vesemir likes to play with him, even out in public on the dance floor of his club. He’s had him coming in his pants surrounded by a hundred people and nobody knew but them.

Vesemir gives him two, stringently avoiding his prostate. Jaskier stretches open beautifully, loving the sensation of being filled again, wiping out that residual unhappy emptiness from that morning. All he feels is warm, is loved, is cared for and  _ wanted. _ “D-Daddy, I think I’m gonna—” The fingers left him, but not ungently. He whines, but gets a kiss for his problems. 

“We have business to talk about first. There’s plenty of time for more fun later.” Vesemir helps him wash up again, just kissing him softly under the water for awhile, enjoying the feeling even past when Vesemir turns the water off and helps dry him off.

“C’mon, bunny, let’s go get some tea and see the others.”

* * *

Eskel’s offered up one of his large black sweaters for Jaskier to wear, so he sits on the couch in Vesemir’s office in just his underwear and that. It’s incredibly cozy, thanks to the warm fireplace in the corner and the twinkling lights of the snow-covered city outside the window. He knows he could get lost in that view forever. A warm mug of tea is pressed into his hands, as are his glasses, which goes about as well as can be expected.

Vesemir presses a button on his desk behind the couch, and says, “Could you three come up here? Five minutes,” before sitting next to Jaskier, staring out at the same view.

“This is incredible,” Jaskier says dreamily, smiling and gently petting the Italian leather sectional he’s curled up on. There’s some curious markings and hardware drilled into the ground.  _ Hm.  _ The tea is a deliciously sweet spicy orange that brings back color to his face. It’s worth it to have his glasses fog up.

Lambert is the first one up, knocking twice before being admitted in. His normally smirk is gone, replaced by a tight, worried expression. “Hey, sugar. You look better,” he says. His demeanor is different, subdued somewhat. He’s calm in his worry as he walks closer and sits down, on the other side of the sectional. “You alright?”

“I’m okay, thank you for coming to get me.” Jaskier shifts closer, setting a hand on his knee. “Really.” Lambert squeezes his hand just as Eskel comes in, toting a piled-high plate of cookies. There’s snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, and peanut butter all together. “Cookies!” Jaskier exclaims. He’s always had a sweet tooth.

“Yeah, well. Lambert’s got therapy, Geralt’s got the gym, and I have a stand mixer. You feeling better, darling? I’m...I—”

“Eskel.” Vesemir’s soft command shuts up any groveling, and stems any guilt that may have been trying to leak out. “Is that where Geralt is?”

“Yes, I think he’s on mile eight right now.” Vesemir rolls his eyes and sighs fondly.

“He better be on mile staircase right now.” Jaskier’s delighted giggle at Vesemir’s disgruntled harrumphing is enough to pull a smile from Eskel and Lambert alike.

“Can I please have a snickerdoodle flavored stress product?” Eskel glares at Lambert’s teasing, but another sharp  _ hm _ from Vesemir kills the attitude.

_ Interesting. They all obey him so readily. There’s a pecking order to this place, but I can’t put my finger on it. _

Geralt comes stumbling in, red-faced and sweaty. “You’re okay,” he breathes, eyes locking on to Jaskier’s curled-up form on the sofa.

“I. Yes. I am. I’m so sorry I worried you all, I didn’t.” Jaskier runs out of words and can’t continue. Vesemir puts a hand on his knee, squeezing.

“We’re all just glad we got there in time. Boy, you’re not sitting on the sofa like that. Floor.” Jaskier’s eyes go wide when Geralt fucking  _ sits on the floor without question. _

“Yes, sir.”

Stealing glances at Eskel and Lambert, they seem unfazed by the command, still comfortable on the couch.

_ So Geralt’s at the bottom of that pecking order, and happily so. _

“So, we’ve had an exciting day, don’t you think?” Vesemir asks, earning wary smiles from his boys. “Jaskier, do you have any questions or anything to say?”

“I. Thank you for. Thank you.” Jaskier is blushing furiously but makes it through. “I um. It’s kind of blowing my mind to see you all here together, in one room.”

Eskel laughs. “I know how you feel, darling.”

“Eskel came to us most recently. We have a...tendency to start courting for others all at once. In fact, Geralt wouldn’t shut up about you after he saw you at that party.”

“And then the next party,” Lambert chimes in with a smirk.

“And the tee-shirt thing hosedown,” Eskel adds. Geralt is turning a rather pretty shade of pink.

“Couldn’t get you off my mind, what can I say?”

“So we got curious.  _ Especially _ after you fainted while giving a lapdance in front of all three of us.”

“Don’t remind me…” Jaskier groans. He is weirdly flattered by their coordinated efforts, the coincidences lining up in a rather sexy conspiracy orchestrated by all of them. He’s incredibly lucky to be here, he knows. “I don’t think I have any questions, besides the cult thing.”

“It’s not a cult,” all four of them say.

“Sounds like something a cult would say,” Jaskier jokes, tucking his feet up and under Vesemir’s thighs. The man is rather amused by Jaskier’s warmth-leeching.

“So we should talk. I want to bring Jaskier up to the penthouse.” Jaskier thinks,  _ but we’re already in the penthouse… _ and realizes it’s more than that.

“Fine by me. There’s another room,” Lambert shrugs.

“Yeah, I’d like that, too,” Eskel says.

“Sir?” Geralt asks, with a face like he’s mulling over the question like the taste of it confuses him.

“Yes?”

“Sir, will Jaskier...play with us?” Geralt’s hands hide in his lap, nervous.

“If he wants,” Vesemir nods. Jaskier feels his breath catch in his throat.  _ All of them? _ This is...beyond his wildest fantasies.

“Wait, what other room?” Jaskier’s brain is running Internet Explorer, several versions late. It’s not his fault.

“You didn’t think we’d keep you up in a penthouse, and shove you in a closet somewhere, like a kept boy?”

“No…Maybe...a very  _ nice _ closet,” Jaskier had honestly never thought of being here before, in this situation.

“They’re nice, big. You’d be able to furnish and decorate it how you want. When you close that door, it’s like you’re in a different apartment by yourself. I value privacy, with my boys,” Vesemir assures him. Jaskier swallows nervously.

“And playing?”

“How about this. We all give it...thirty days. I’m not saying you should move in permanently, or right now. You all have a few weeks between semesters, and thirty days should be long enough to determine if it’s a good fit for you, with us, and us, with you. You’d live with us, eat with us, play and go out with us, live like you would were you here permanently. And at the end of that, if you want to make things official, and we all agree, we’ll do that. If not, no harm no foul and we can live apart.”

“I like the sound of that better,” Jaskier breathes, chewing on his lower lip. He’s still a little keyed up from his shower with Vesemir. “I could. God, I could try, couldn’t I?”

“Better than living in a freezer at Christmas,” Lambert says around a mouth full of cookies.

“You would really want to, bunny?” Vesemir asks, the hope sparkling in his eyes. Jaskier’s rather caught off guard by it. He  _ wants _ this, they  _ all _ do.

“Yes.”

The boys all break into broad smiles at him, happiness radiating off of them. Vesemir kisses Jaskier’s cheek and squeezes his thigh.

“I think we should have some celebratory playtime, don’t you boys?”

“Yes, sir,” three voices say excitedly.

“Yes, Daddy,” says one more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's the finale of this fic!! Subscribe to the series listed for updates on more SCAU adventures!


	10. A Starting Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed warnings at the bottom. This is an orgy y'all.

“So,” Vesemir says. It’s a massive cliche, but there’s a hundred thousand things that sit behind that little  _ so, _ and each one of them sends Jaskier’s body into overdrive, his blood singing in his ears. The hand on his thigh tightens, and those sparkling topaz eyes meet his again. “Who wants to kiss Jaskier first?”

Jaskier is immediately caught between his breath hitching and his mouth forming a wide grin. “Uh, sir, I would really,  _ really _ like to kiss Jaskier right now,” Geralt says, keeping his cross-legged posture, but he’s strained. Eskel and Lambert watch them all curiously.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, come here, boy.” Vesemir crooks a finger and points to the spot on the carpet in front of him. Geralt crawls forward, already chewing on his lower lip as he goes, his eyes locked onto Jaskier like it’s a greater treasure than he’d ever thought he could have.

Jaskier leans forward eagerly, almost tumbling off of the couch. Vesemir chuckles and keeps him upright, Geralt coming to a stop before them. Jaskier wastes no time, capturing his lips in his and making soft, delicious noises into Geralt’s mouth. In turn, Geralt groans, licking into Jaskier’s mouth like an excited puppy. He’s already tenting his running shorts, anticipating the bedroom activities coming soon. Jaskier’s hands are swamped by Eskel’s sweater sleeves, folding over his fingers as he grabs at Geralt’s broad shoulders, kissing him like he’s going to disappear at any moment, like he needed to devour the man. Geralt makes a high-pitched whine of want, and that’s what snaps Vesemir back to reality.

“You still smell like those eight miles on the treadmill. Shower, now.”

“Yes Sir,” Geralt slurs, breaking away from kissing Jaskier. “Sorry, sexy. What he says goes.” He throws a wink at him before standing.

“No reason you can’t have company,” Lambert says, stripping out of his hoodie as he stands.

“Excellent idea, Lambert,” Eskel agrees, following Geralt into Vesemir’s bathroom. Jaskier grins, still a little excited and breathless, but pecks a kiss to Vesemir’s cheek and stands, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go watch.”

“It’s just a shower, bunny,” Vesemir says, smirking a little.

“Then what’s the reason for the glass walls?” Jaskier quirks an eyebrow at him, earning a grin.

“To watch.”

Geralt already has the shower running by the time they get in, Lambert walking in just as they do, naked as can be. Jaskier looks his fill, drinking in the deeply carved muscles and beautiful structure to his body. There’s a rather wonderful middle-finger tattoo on the back of his hip Jaskier grins at. Eskel is sitting on a low bench he’d pulled from the other side of the bathroom, palming himself almost shyly.

“Leave the door open, Lambert, want to hear you.” Lambert nods at Vesemir’s command. There’s probably better ventilation in this one room than there is in most office buildings. “Bunny, why don’t you go sit on Eskel’s lap, face the shower.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier smiles, and backs up to sit with Eskel. “Hi,”

“Hi,” Eskel says, kissing his cheek. “You’re mighty fine in my things, darling.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says with a blush.

“Bun, why don’t you tell them what we did in the shower before.”

Jaskier’s voice catches in his throat as he looks, wide-eyed, at Vesemir. He nods in reassurance.

“He um,” Jaskier swallows, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes, before realizing that’s a ridiculous thing to do. He looks up and locks eyes with Geralt. “Daddy washed me real good, all thorough and nice, you all know how nice his hands are,” Three grunts of approval. “How deep they can go in you.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Eskel hisses in his ear. His hands, once just holding his hips to keep him balanced, start to roam. “How many? Tell us how many fingers you took.”

“I—it was—” God, Jaskier can’t even think straight, not with Eskel’s hand teasing at the hem of his briefs. “Just two. He didn’t wanna overwhelm me fr-from this morning.”

“And what happened this morning?” Lambert asks from the shower, just a moment before he’s two fingers deep in Geralt’s ass. Geralt is bent over a shower bench, soap still all over his body and a beautiful expression on his face.

“He…” Jaskier’s brain short circuits when Lambert very clearly finds Geralt’s prostate, making the man give a hoarse moan. His cock strains in the air, not even able to frot against the unforgiving wall or a hand. “He um, Geralt, he opened me up just like you’re doing now, and brought me over to Eskel to fuck. I had barely woken up when they decided we were fucking this morning. Geralt wanted to fuck my mouth, and Eskel got my ass.”

He would have continued, but Eskel whispered, “This time,” in his ear in a filthy little promise that has Jaskier squirming instantly. “Look at them, you want me to do that to you? I could do that in my room, in my shower, have you on your knees for me, fuck you right there, all messy hot and wet, you want that?”

“Please,” Jaskier squeaks, arching his back as Eskel pushes a hand up the sweater, fingertips dancing across his skin til he finds his right nipple, rolling and flicking at the piercing there. A hot mouth with sharp teeth finds its way to Jaskier’s earlobe, sucking on the end and nibbling idly. The onslaught of sensation sends shocks of pleasure all through his body. “No more sweater,” Jaskier pouts, and is obliged, the offending article tossed in the pile with Lambert and Geralt’s things.

“Anything else, darling?” Eskel teases, hands spanning across his chest and pressing him back, the hard line of his erection burningly apparent to Jaskier. “Maybe...you wanna keep these on?” He picks at the hem on his underwear, snapping it back against his thigh.

“No…!” Jaskier giggles, squirming again. “Want ‘em off, want all of the clothes off! You too. And you too, Daddy.” Jaskier feels confident in making his bratty commands, but hopes he’s not crossing any boundaries. Luckily, he gets twin smiles from the men on the bench, who dutifully start to strip as ordered.

Geralt makes another almost-squeal, his hands scrabbling at the glass walls. Three pairs of eyes snap to him, where Lambert is three fingers in and clearly pushing every button Geralt has. Vesemir says, “Lambert,” softly. “You know the rules.”

“Yes, sir,” Lambert says, though not with the bone-deep obedience Geralt normally says it with. He gently slips his fingers free and pulls Geralt up, rinsing him down quickly. “Towels?”

Eskel moves, already naked, to the stack of fluffy towels to the side. Geralt has that beautiful hazy expression he had before, when he was crawling up to Jaskier on the couch. Lambert looks rather affected, himself. His prick stands out from his body, proud and hard and ready to sink into the nearest hole.

Once the boys are dry, they file into the bedroom. It’s a bit of a tighter fit with five, but they make it work. Geralt lays down in the middle for a moment, before pulling Jaskier down for more kisses. Jaskier makes a happy noise, hovering over him before indulging and pressing their naked bodies together. Geralt’s an excellent kisser, thorough and not pushy at all.  _ Perhaps that’s just the power of Sir’s bed. _

A hand winds into Geralt’s hair and pulls. “Tell me what you want, boy,” Vesemir says, his voice sounding a little different, rougher.

“Please, I want to be fucked, Sir,” Geralt moans, leaning into the touch.

“Well, I think that would go to Lambert, don’t you think. After all, he helped open you up and put on a show for us all.” Geralt nods, wincing when his hair tugs uncomfortably.

“Thank you, Sir.” Geralt melts into the bed when Lambert pulls him closer to the side he’s on, a bottle of lube rolling toward the dip in the mattress.

“Eskel?” Vesemir asks. “What do you wanna do, angel?” Eskel’s previous sexy confidence hides under a blush for a moment.

“His mouth,” Eskel murmurs shyly. Jaskier feels like he’s gotten whiplash suddenly, seeing them all change roles so quickly.

“You may have it. Bunny, how do you want it? This cock’s going in that teasing little ass.” Vesemir lands a light smack to Jaskier’s ass, pulling a yelp from his lips.

“I wanna be fucked how Geralt gets fucked, wanna watch him, feel what he feels. And I want him to feel what I feel.” All four of them suck in a breath, so taken aback by his forwardness they forget how to speak a moment. “What? I’m a slut,” he shrugs.

“We can do that. Lambert, your call.” Vesemir grabs the lube and cracks it open.

“Hands and knees, Geralt. Know you like getting mounted like a bitch.” Geralt’s answering moan and quick compliance confirms Lambert’s tease. “That’s right. Let’s get your ass open for me. Oh wait, I did.” Lambert slicks up his cock, not bothering with a condom before pushing in. Geralt cries out in ecstasy, that almost-squeal happening again.

Jaskier’s dick is now throbbing between his thighs. Vesemir gets a hand on his neck and pushes him into position, the manhandling making his brain go fuzzy and soft. He gets up on his knees and wiggles his ass, getting another spank for his actions. “How do my fingers sound, bunny?”

“Perfect, Daddy,” Jaskier pants breathlessly, giving a short yip when he gets two at once. Geralt is slightly drooling to his right, almost collapsed onto his elbows. Jaskier watches with a moan caught in his throat as Eskel takes hold of Geralt’s head and feeds him his cock. He can see Geralt’s eyes roll back, accepting the fullness at both ends. Eskel and Lambert are relentless with him, eventually working out a rhythm to pull him off of one cock and back down onto the other.

Jaskier lets out an excited noise when Vesemir goes for three fingers. “You want me to wear a condom, bunny?”

“No, want you, want you in me, come in me. Please,” Jaskier babbles, rocking his hips back on Vesemir’s fingers.

“You got it, bunny.” Vesemir moves slowly inside him, feeling him out like he’s inspecting the goods, weighing its worthiness to take his cock. Jaskier is practically vibrating with want, needing that length back in him as soon as possible. Geralt makes a gagging noise on Eskel’s cock and coughs as Eskel shoves himself down as deep as he’ll go.

“Pretty like this, Geralt. No better use for that mouth,” Eskel whispers, just for him even though they can all hear him. Geralt must give some kind of signal, because Eskel pulls all the way out, letting him breathe a bit.

Vesemir teases the slick head of his cock against Jaskier’s hole, never pushing in more than a bare centimeter before pulling back. “Daddyyyy…” Jaskier whines.

“Aren’t you forgetting? Good bunnies ask for what they want with all their prettiest pleases.”

A flush of embarrassment passes over his face and neck, but Jaskier looks back at him over his shoulder and says, “Pretty pretty please, Daddy, can I have your cock? You said you’d fuck me…” Jaskier tacks on a pretty little pout to seal the deal, which makes the shocked expression he makes when Vesemir pushes in to the hilt that much more amusing. Jaskier’s face contorts in satisfaction and surprise, pleased with the outcome and still overwhelmed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Daddy, thank you.”

“Such nice manners for a slutty little bunny,” Vesemir says, hands going to Jaskier’s hips in a mirror of Lambert’s on Geralt. Lambert slows his pace to a more languid one, letting Geralt feel the entire length in him. Eskel’s moved; Geralt’s suckling at the tip of his cock indulgently. The burning need is banked, some, all of them content to just back in one another.

Lambert moves his hands all over Geralt’s back and sides, which Vesemir matches. With a smirk, Lambert goes down to Geralt’s nipples, playing and flicking at them without a care to the man he’s balls-deep in, three pairs of eyes watching to see Jaskier’s reaction. It lives up to their expectations, the combination of teasing and extended want making the little piercings wreak havoc on his senses. Jaskier makes the prettiest little noises for them all, his mouth still free, unlike Geralt’s stuffed one. 

There’s a bit of shuffling so they’re closer together, but once they are, they fall into a strong, safe euphoria of touches. Jaskier has never felt this touch-drunk in his life, and it’s driving him absolutely mad. He didn’t know there was a higher place to fly than Vesemir got him to all on his own. He never wants to leave.

They can’t just fuck forever, though.

Eskel makes a choked-off noise in the back of his throat and pulls his cock out of Geralt’s mouth, stripping it with a slicked fist before Geralt’s face. Geralt looks beautiful and glassy-eyed, jaw slack as he awaits Eskel’s release. Thick stripes of come cover his face, missing his beautiful eyes by luck alone. He moans at the feeling, loving the feeling. Jaskier’s gut drops at the sight. He grips the sheets and bucks back against Vesemir, demanding more. 

Vesemir makes a surprised noise, and Lambert hesitates a moment before locking into Jaskier’s pace, pounding Geralt as hard and deep as he can. It’s a bit too much for him, though, and he’s filling up Geralt’s ass nice and full within a few minutes, coming with a low snarl as he grinds through the aftershocks. When he doesn’t bother reaching around to help out Geralt’s release, Jaskier realizes what the  _ rules _ meant.

Geralt can’t come without permission, and he’d bet his life Vesemir’s permission won’t come until the others do.

It seems Vesemir has realized Jaskier’s epiphany. “Oh you like that, do you, bunny?” Vesemir hisses into his ear, slightly breathy from the effort he’s putting into Jaskier’s pleasure. “You like seeing him be controlled down to the teeth like that? You wanna get tied up like he likes, wanna get put on your knees and ordered around? You want your pleasure tied to my whim and will? Tell Daddy what you want.” He finishes his speech with a sharp slap to his ass, making Jaskier cry out and shake beneath him, overwhelmed by the images put in his head.

“Daddy, please!” Jaskier whines, writhing around in Vesemir’s hold. The others heard every word enunciated, all of them imagining the same thing: Jaskier down on his knees with Geralt, matching collars, matching bindings all over their matching, bitten bodies. “I want that, oh please I want that.”

“You’ll get it, bunny, don’t worry. What do you want right now, tell me.”

“I…” Jaskier’s eyes can’t lock onto anything in particular, rolling hazy over the others. “I wanna come on Geralt too,” he squeaks.

The others, Geralt loudest, let out groans of want at the request. Vesemir hauls him up onto just his knees, so he’s fucking him nice and deep from this kneeling position. Jaskier can practically feel his dick all the way up in his  _ mouth _ at this point, isn’t sure how much more he can take. The rhythm is only kept through Vesemir’s sure and steady arms around him, pulling him up and down on his cock. When his hand wraps around Jaskier’s neglected cock, he nearly sobs in relief. “Where do you wanna come, bunny?”

“A-anywhere, all over him, everywhere, please Daddy, let me come—!” He’s cut off with a sharp whine, his whole body tensing up as his release comes. He clenches down on Vesemir’s cock deliciously tight, pulling a low growl from the man. Jaskier paints all over Geralt’s chest and belly, and watches him nearly lose it from the feeling. Geralt  _ likes _ being covered like this, Jaskier realizes with what little left of his faculties he has.

Eskel and Lambert swoop in simultaneously. Eskel captures Jaskier’s mouth with his own, rolling his hips against Jaskier’s still-twitching cock, teasing little noises out of Jaskier’s sweet mouth. Lambert is laying the same kisses all over Geralt’s body, smearing come into his skin downright  _ lovingly, _ even as he plays with Geralt’s still-leaking ass. “Eskel, you gotta come stick your cock in this mess. It’s nice and wet, how you like it.”

Eskel pulls back with a groan and leaves Jaskier a parting kiss and a wink. “Well, if I  _ gotta…” _

Jaskier watches the exchange, and shudders at the noise made when Eskel pushes in. It’s a mixture of filthy squelching, and Geralt’s wordless cry, and the slap of skin on skin, the soundtrack to Jaskier’s preferred flavor of hedonism.

However, Jaskier isn’t to be outdone. With a hand on Vesemir’s hip, he urges him back out of his body, and arranges him on the bed, on his back. Vesemir goes with it, of course, as most of Jaskier’s ideas lead to quite amazing things when he’s indulged. Jaskier clambers on again, lining up to sink down onto him again with a delighted noise.

He rolls his hips once, twice, testing the position before he determines it’s  _ fucking amazing. _ He leans forward, grinding in little circles that make Vesemir’s entire body tense up and relax seconds after one another. “You like me on top, Daddy? Don’t think I don’t know why you want me in your lap all the time,” Jaskier says through stuttered breaths. He takes Vesemir’s hands and slides them up his sides, broad and slightly sticky from the dried lube, but they’re perfect, a welcome coolness against the fire raging under his skin. He leads them up to his nipples, making Vesemir’s fingers pinch and tug at the piercings teasingly. Once he gets the memo, Jaskier returns to riding him into the next dimension.

It’s a brutal, incredibly tiring pace, but it’s worth it to see just how little control Vesemir has over his orgasm after that. He lasts less than a minute with Jaskier’s hips doing that  _ obscene _ motion against him, coming deep in him and shouting his name. Jaskier’s panting and his limbs are all trembling with the effort, but he’s got a mile-wide grin on his face and he’s practically glowing from the achievement.

“Can we do that?” Eskel asks, dumbfounded and pulled out of Geralt. He’d never thought Vesemir wanted to be anywhere but on top, with them. Judging by the astonished looks on Geralt and Lambert’s faces, it hadn’t occurred to them either.

“Only good boys get to ride,” Vesemir groans, throwing a hand over his face. They all grin at each other, a soft respite from the eager fucking they were all engaged in. Geralt’s dick still lays hard and slightly drooling on his belly, straining with his own control. “Lambert, has Geralt been a good boy?”

“Yes, he’s been very, very good,” Lambert says, running his hands up and down Geralt’s shaking thighs. “Can I give him my mouth?”

“You want to come in Lambert’s mouth, boy?” Vesemir asks, leveling his gaze to Geralt’s hazy one.

“Y-yes, Sir, please,” Geralt whines, fighting not to squirm. His face is all flushed and red, sweat beaded on his forehead next to the drying come from Eskel’s release, hair fanned out beneath him in a beautiful veil against the creamy sheets. Jaskier’s breath catches with how  _ beautiful _ he looks.

“Go on then, boy.”

Lambert takes him down his throat instantly, well-practiced with this, and practically grinning up at Geralt. He doesn’t last long at all, especially not with Jaskier reaching over and smearing a little more of his come into the contours of his muscles. He comes almost silently, a departure from his noisy, swearing orgasm that morning. As soon as he’s finished, he falls limp against the sheets, as if a string has been cut.

A tension Jaskier didn’t even know was hanging around them dissipates. They clean up a little, just so they don’t stick to each other too badly, and fall in together, Vesemir curled around Jaskier, Jaskier half-clung to by Lambert, Geralt tethered to the earth by Vesemir, all side-by-side, naked and happy, resting between the rounds of fun they’ll be able to have all winter long. It’s warm, and the furthest thing from lonely.

Before everyone falls asleep, they can all hear Jaskier whisper, “Yeah, I wanna stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has to shower before their celebratory group sex. He's fingered open by Lambert in the shower while Eskel and Vesemir tease Jaskier, all of them watching the shower show. Geralt and Vesemir have a D/s relationship in the bedroom as well as outside of the bedroom, with Geralt calling him "Sir" and Vesemir calling him "boy". Throughout, there's a bit of humiliation kink toward Geralt tied into the dirty talk. There are no condoms in sight for this orgy, but they're all essentially in a committed relationship with one another. Jaskier continues to call Vesemir "Daddy" and Vesemir calls Jaskier "bunny". Geralt likes to be come on. A lot.


End file.
